Shattered
by Bryon Nightshade
Summary: One was built to kill. One was built to supplant. One was built to correct. One was built to be. Zero and Colonel, Iris and X- were their purposes better fulfilled when history brought them together, or when it tore them apart?
1. Merit

_Disclaimer: This story uses characters and situations copyright Capcom. They're used without permission, but not for profit._

 _Note: this story will update every other Monday. Cheers.  
This story stands alone. That said, it also builds on a particular interpretation I have of the Colonel/Iris relationship. If you'd like a richer experience, consider reading "Broken Glass", but it's not necessary to enjoy this story.  
_

* * *

"I'd put that down, if I were you."

The rookie Hunter froze in place. An e-tank was in his hand. "Huh?"

Rekir, assistant squad leader for the Zeroth Squad of the Maverick Hunters, and one of the oldest Hunters still surviving, barely looked up from the report he was working on. "You know they recycle e-tanks, don't you?"

"Well… sure, that makes sense," said the rookie. He looked down at the container in his hand. The main compartment was a battery to help high-performance reploids sustain themselves between recharges. Attached was a compartment holding a slurry of bonus nanites and raw materials in easily-digestible form, the very thing to maintain critical components under stress.

It was innocuous enough, common enough. On-duty Hunters quaffed the tanks without a second thought. Now the rookie was looking at his with a frown on his face.

"Ever heard of the Cursed E-tank?"

The rookie laughed nervously. "The Cursed E-tank?"

"It's no laughing matter," said Rekir gravely. "You didn't even look at that e-tank, did you?"

"Why would I?" said the rookie, his humor fading.

Rekir fixed the rookie with his gaze. "Because there's one e-tank in particular, a Cursed E-tank. They say it's the last e-tank Sigma used before he went Maverick. He marked it, and his curse lives on. Every Hunter who's ever used that e-tank, they say, went Maverick afterwards. Mack tried to force-feed it to X during the Third War because it was the one thing that could make X go Maverick. It's a relic of evil."

"Why don't they get rid of it, then?" asked the rookie. He was slowly extending his arm, holding the e-tank further and further from his body.

"They've tried," said Rekir with a laugh. "That's part of the curse, though. Every time they think they've gotten rid of it, it shows back up again. I personally tossed an e-tank I was told was the Cursed E-tank into an incinerator. I watched it burn. That was during the clean-up after the Second War. And then eight months later, we had to Hunt a Hunter, and before he died, he screamed something about the Cursed E-tank. I can't explain it. I just know it's real."

"H-how…" the rookie gulped, holding his e-tank at arm's length. "How do you kn-know which e-tank is the Cursed E-tank?"

"It's hard, very hard. Most people don't look because e-tanks are so common. But the Cursed E-tank has a special mark on it. It's two-thirds of the way down, a small red plus sign—"

The rookie yelped. There was a clatter as the e-tank hit the floor, then a commotion as the rookie fled the Hunter break room.

"That wasn't very nice."

Rekir craned his head to see Alia, arms crossed, look stern. "What?"

The Hunters' senior Operator was below-average in height and gendered female, with blonde robot hair kept diligently away from her face. Her slim black carapace was reinforced with just enough peach-and-red armor to keep her from being an instant collateral casualty.

She was also putting on a master class in how to be imposing without an imposing physique.

She didn't reply to Rekir. Instead she strode across the room to the rack of e-tanks. She ran a finger across the front row of e-tanks, spinning them slightly. " _Every_ e-tank has a small red plus sign two-thirds of the way down," she scolded. "It's an integrity mark to show that the two compartments were sealed properly."

Rekir looked up. "The _one time_ I decide to have some fun with a rookie…"

"Hazing, you mean?"

"What? No, no, of course not. That word! If I wanted to haze someone, I'd, I don't know, throw him in a training scenario in which he has no chance and then brutally murder him."

"Don't try to be flippant about this," Alia said.

"I'm teaching him," Rekir said. "I'm teaching him to be skeptical and knowledgeable. He has to seek answers and know better than the people around him."

"Who he can't trust, as you've demonstrated."

"Given Mavericks, distrust is a survival trait."

"Given Mavericks, _teamwork_ is a survival trait, and he's going to find that a lot harder if he's always wondering about Azzles playing tricks on him."

Rekir sighed. "Okay, I can see where this is going. What do I have to do to get you to shut up about this?"

Alia sat down opposite Rekir and leaned in close. When she spoke, her voice was quieter and more intense. "Tell me where Zero goes."

Rekir blinked. "Huh?"

"When he goes on his patrol, Iris is his Operator. She can only be assigned to the Zeroth and the Seventeenth—but you know that. So most of the time, as soon as he's done with his rounds, she goes off duty, too. And then… they disappear."

"Disappear," Rekir repeated.

"It used to be that they'd go for a drive in one of the Maverick Hunter vans," Alia went on, her voice almost tripping over itself. "I'd see them going out and returning. These days that's not happening. They just disappear—not in their tubes, not in the Base…"

"I really don't see what difference it makes if Zero's here or not," said Rekir. When Alia gave him a severe look, he kept his features neutral, a trick only older reploids could pull off. It defeated her. They both knew he was right, but neither could say why.

Rekir was, functionally, the Squad Leader for Zeroth Squad, not a mere Azzle. He performed all the administrative and training tasks that were normally a Squad Leader's responsibility. Zero had no appetite for such things. He was Squad Leader because of his expertise, symbolism, and incorruptibility—not because he was a good Squad Leader. Rekir picked up the slack. That meant that Zero could go missing for extended periods of time and Zeroth Squad would chug along all the same. Until a particularly bad Maverick incident occurred, he wouldn't be missed.

Not that Rekir or Alia could say that if there was even a slight possibility of being overheard.

"They're up to something," Alia said.

Rekir laughed aloud. "Like what?"

"I was hoping you had some idea."

"I long ago gave up trying to think like Zero."

"No one besides X knows him better than you," Alia said.

"Then ask X."

They shared a look.

"Okay, don't ask X. That doesn't mean I know anything, though. You're an Operator. You can tap into the whole base's security grid. If you don't know where he is, I definitely don't."

"You should, though," Alia insisted. "You're his Azzle. You have to be able to contact him when you need him."

"He doesn't tell me."

"That's… negligent of both of you. Sorry," she said when she saw Rekir's reaction, but her insincerity was audible. "I mean, you have to have some ideas. You have to know something. You've been his Azzle since before the First War."

"He's not the same anymore," Rekir replied. "Whatever I knew isn't as useful nowadays."

"Not the same. How?"

"Iris."

It was such a little word to carry so much import. It was enough to bring Alia to a pause for some time. "That's what I was afraid of," she said at last.

"Afraid," Rekir repeated. "See, this is the part that confuses me. What bothers you about this? So Zero's found a friend. So he spends time with her. And?"

"It's changing him," she replied. "You said it yourself. He's becoming someone different."

Rekir hesitated, then forced a shrug. "It doesn't bother me."

"How can you say that? You don't even know what he's doing. How can that not bother you?"

"It's not my business."

Her face went stony. "Rekir, I can tell when reploids are lying to me over a low-quality voice line. You're sitting right in front of me."

"Oh, so you're an empath now? You get a cut of Iris' code?"

Her expression told Rekir what she thought of _that_ notion. He grinned.

"Anyway," Rekir went on, "you didn't used to be a busybody. Didn't you like to describe yourself as a professional? You're changing, too."

"I know, and I'm not proud of it," she admitted, "but something about this situation doesn't sit right with me. I feel like there's no way it can end well. It bothers me."

"You mean Iris bothers you."

That made Alia lean back. Rekir recognized this as the first time he'd really made Alia think. "I don't understand what's going on there," she said, slowly.

"With her?"

"I don't understand why…"

Rekir waited, but she made no effort to complete the sentence. Eventually, Rekir said, "She unnerves you."

"She unnerves everyone," Alia said defensively.

Rekir smiled. "You know who else unnerves everyone? Zero."

"He doesn't unnerve me."

"He used to."

"But then…" she stopped, and her eyes narrowed. "Are you really trying to tell me I just have to get used to Iris, and then I'll be okay with her and Zero acting weirdly?"

"No," Rekir replied. "I'm saying that if you want me to do something as _monumentally stupid_ as poking my nose into Zero's business when he's trying very hard to be private, you'll need a lot more than, 'Iris unnerves me'."

"You're still scared of him, huh?" Alia said.

Rekir chuckled. "I know you pride yourself on being rational, Alia, but sometimes a little fear is a rational response. Not that any part of what you're up to seems very rational."

She looked away. "I know," she said again. "Here's my problem. Iris has been with us for weeks, now. I've tried getting used to her. I've been working with her a lot more closely than you. It should tell you something that I'm bringing this up to you anyway. Your advice is a busted spare."

"Something as useless as the part it's replacing," Rekir said. "Ouch."

She shook her head. "Let's forget Iris for now. This isn't really about her, anyway. As an Operator, I want one of us to be able to reach Zero at all times. It's standard practice. Right now I'm one or two calls away from reaching any Squad Leader or Azzle other than Zero."

"Simple," said Rekir. "Find Iris. Find Iris and you'll find Zero."

Alia looked up. "This isn't about Iris."

"You keep telling yourself that." Rekir smiled and decided it was time to be gracious. "Look, if you want, I'll put a bug in Zero's ear to make sure he stays close. He'll be available in emergencies. Is that good enough?"

"I guess," Alia said unhappily, but both reploids knew she couldn't ask for much more. "And in return I won't tell anyone about your little hazing thing."

"What a bargain," Rekir said with a roll of his eyes. "Anything else I can do for you?"

The corner of Alia's mouth twitched. "You can apologize to that rookie."

Rekir laughed. "I'll think about it."

Alia stood. "We'll chat again later."

As she was going out the door, Double was coming in. The rotund, yellow-plated rookie headed straight for the rack of e-tanks and made to pick one up.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Rekir warned him. Double turned, startled. Rekir counted off a few seconds to ensure Alia was out of hearing, then said, "Clearly, you've never heard of… the Cursed E-tank."

* * *

 _I don't deserve this._

General had that thought a lot.

He didn't say it more than once—the reaction he got the first time convinced him it wasn't considered appropriate. The thought recurred to him, though.

 _I don't deserve this._

"Yes, ma'am," was what he said. Ahead of him was Ms. Gerry, a small, graying woman with all the warmth and approachability of a naked dagger. The contrast between General and Gerry was almost absurd. It made the power relationship between them seem equally absurd.

It reminded General of himself. His head, and the standard reploid brain within, was comically small compared to his oversized body. The control element was much smaller than the physical element, just as Gerry was smaller than General. Yet the one drove the other.

That was how it should be. General couldn't do Gerry's job. He barely knew his own job. But, when his job was also his name, what else could he do? He was General, so he had to be General, however ill-suited he might be.

"Your command is waiting for you," she went on. "You'll be taking charge of them shortly. They're organized on the field ahead. Just greet them, recite the speech we've given you, and we'll move on."

"Yes, ma'am," General said.

"You'll have time later to get to know them. This first introduction is ceremonial. Colonel looked up the procedures for it—he'll be your second-in-command."

"Why couldn't he be the commander?" General asked.

"For reasons we'll discuss later," said Gerry shortly. Her tone was one General recognized as a warning. No more questions like that. Frustrating, but what could he do?

"I understand," General said. Gerry turned to talk to an aide, and when General also stopped, she waved him on. Apparently she didn't think this ceremony was as important for her as it was for him.

More unsettled than ever, General complied. The back of a bandstand was ahead of him, with a staircase to the side; a lower-ranking Repliforce soldier was gesturing to it. General took the stairs, three at a time, and watched his feet all along to keep from falling off.

The side effect of this was that the first time he really noticed his soldiers was when he was standing on the stage, looking out at them all. It hit him all at once—overwhelmed him. He stalled out beneath their collective gaze.

Dozens—hundreds?—maybe more—looked up at him while standing at attention. Even the non-humanoid models—feraloids, General dimly remembered—were doing their level best to show proper respect. Colonel was standing in front of the stage; cued by General's appearance, he bellowed, "Hand… sa-LUTE!"

There was a single, large blast of sound, like a cannon firing, as all of those hands snapped into salutes. Colonel turned in precise, measured motions. He gave General a flourish and salute of his own with an unlit beam saber. "Repliforce ready for inspection General SIR!"

 _I don't deserve this._

"Carry on," General ordered.

Colonel cut his salute, turned about just as precisely as before. "Rea-dyyyy… TO!" Cannon blast. "Pa-raaaade… REST!" A thousand feet stamped once.

General forced himself over to the podium. He tried to call up the speech he'd been given. It didn't come. As he looked out over Repliforce, he saw devotion. He saw loyalty. He saw obedience. He saw honor. He saw pride.

 _I don't deserve this._

"Soldiers of Repliforce," he said, leaping into the unknown, "I could not be more impressed by all of you. I am humbled by the opportunity to be your General. To lead you is a privilege. I will do everything I can to help you, to keep you alive, to… help us cover ourselves in honor and glory.

"I'll be meeting with all of you eventually. For now, I can see your quality, your determination, even from here.

"The power we have as an army is awesome, and our responsibilities are equally awesome. It will take the strongest fighting force on Earth to eradicate Maverickism- but that's what we are, and that is our charge. I will do my utmost; I expect all of you to do the same. I know you won't disappoint me. Together we can meet any challenge, for we… are… Repliforce!"

Several soldiers cheered spontaneously, and soon they all broke out into clapping. Technically it was a breakdown of discipline, but General wasn't about to punish anyone for applauding him. He stole a glance at Colonel. His subordinate was nodding approvingly. It made General smile.

And, also, feel like a pretender. Who was he, to have the respect and dedication of all these worthy reploids? He didn't deserve it.

Well, his speech was the truth. He'd do right by them. He swore it.

He was out of words (why was a newbuilt giving speeches, anyway? Even if he was their undeserving commander), so even though it had been bare seconds since he'd ascended the stage, it was time to go. "Dismissed," he said. He walked off the stage. Behind him, Colonel was shouting, "Repliforce, a-teeeeen… HUT! Fall out!" _Good for him_ , thought General. He liked Colonel already. He wanted to meet him as soon as possible.

Gerry was just finishing with her aide as General approached. "Everything go well?" she said briskly.

"Yes," General said, and, feeling cautious, left it at that.

"Good," said Gerry; General was relieved to realize she wasn't actually interested. "We have more important things to worry about. Namely, a budget meeting at the Abel City legislative offices. Remember, money makes the world go 'round… Don't just stand there, come with me."

General sighed. _I_ definitely _don't deserve_ this.

But orders were orders. He followed.

* * *

"You've seen the range of motion on the cameras. You know they don't turn enough to look up here."

"I thought they just… don't."

"Look over here. You can see there's a post in the way. The way the camera's mounted keeps it from looking back to the roof."

"You're right. But can't they hear… oh! That's right. They don't have audio. Those receivers are separate."

"Exactly. No one can see or hear us up here."

Iris smiled. "Thank you for finding this, Zero."

 _That smile_. Seeing it did something strange to Zero. At first he thought it was the novelty of it. There usually wasn't much smiling in the Maverick Hunters. X smiled sometimes, but that was… different. Everything about X was singular. The first few times Iris smiled at Zero, the first few times he felt this sensation, he thought it was just because it was unusual.

But it wasn't. If it was a novelty thing, that would have worn off. Instead, it seemed to get stronger with each exposure. The smile was more effective the more often she used it.

Effective at what, Zero wasn't sure. But something. Something new and strange and frightening and wonderful.

The smile was all the more remarkable for the frame it was attached to. Iris was seemingly designed to be vulnerable: undersized, with a blue-and-red exterior no one would confuse for armor and a long streamer of brown robot hair. Yet, somehow, this puny creature could see into Zero well enough to trigger his survival instincts.

He couldn't stand it after a moment and looked away. There was a lot to see up on the roof of Hunter Base. Plenty of excuses. "This used to be Cain Labs," he said, tapping his foot on the roof so Iris knew what he meant. "It used to be well outside Abel City, but that was three wars ago. The city has grown since then."

"I can see that," Iris said. She pointed to the cranes and scaffolding before them, and the buildings that were rising a stone's throw away.

"Closer to Hunter Base is safer," Zero agreed. "Something about insurance—X explained it to me once…"

He stopped speaking when he saw Iris wince. He silently chided himself. At times it seemed like half of what he said referenced X, and it had begun to wear on Iris. Zero was his own person, wasn't he?

He wouldn't have known it bothered her until she told him; he couldn't tell such things on his own. But she had told him, and now, against all odds, that mattered to him.

"I mean… after the First War, when we turned Cain Labs into Hunter Base, everyone wanted to be close by," Zero amended. "Especially when Maverickism lived on after the First War was over."

"Why'd you have to turn Cain Labs into Hunter Base? Didn't you have a base before the First War?"

"Sigma slagged it."

"Oh."

"No one knows the Hunters' vulnerabilities better than a Hunter," Zero said. "Especially a commander of Hunters. Sigma's first blow was to destroy the old Maverick Hunter HQ and kill everyone inside."

"Including the Operators?"

"Especially the Operators. He wanted to break our command-and-control. It made wiping out the Hunters in the field easier. A few of the field Hunters got away, but none of the Operators did."

Iris' gaze had slipped down. Zero didn't know why. She noticed—Zero could almost see the moment her power picked up on his confusion. "I'm an Operator," she said. "I would have died that day."

That helped. It was a relief to have someone who knew he couldn't read emotions, and knew when she needed to explain herself. Most people didn't, leaving Zero in a state of perpetual muddle. It wasn't his fault he had no empathy, any more than it was Iris' fault her empathy was cranked so high it handicapped her. It was just how they were built.

In that, at least, they were alike.

"That's the closest we ever came to losing," Zero said. "We almost lost the First War. We were all but wiped out in the first hour. Even I died that time."

"You… died?"

Zero nodded.

"You don't look dead."

"I can't really explain it."

"You mean you don't want to explain it."

Zero's mouth tightened.

"Sorry. I was too direct again." She did seem sorry, not that Zero knew the difference.

"It's all tied up with the end of the Second War," Zero said. "A lot of that story was redacted. I don't want to risk telling you something you're not supposed to know."

"That's never stopped you before," Iris pointed out. "But it's okay. Even if that's not _the_ reason, I know you have one. I'm sure it's a good reason, so I won't ask."

Zero's mouth gaped open as he tried to keep up with her. "And you still trust me?"

"You gave me one of your sabers," she said.

She didn't need to say anything more. With her abilities, she knew how hard—how meaningful—that gift had been for Zero. Zero was feeling _that feeling_ again, and she wasn't even smiling.

Only one thing could make it better. "Do we have time for another lesson?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied.

When Zero spoke again, it was with confidence and authority—finally the conversation had gotten to his favorite subject. "Draw-strike."

He watched as she tried to act natural. She slipped into a neutral posture. Then, with a few jerky, amateurish motions, the saber was in her hand, and she was lunging in a broad slice.

She wasn't built for combat, of course, but the Z-saber and a little training would be enough to make her a mortal threat to all but the most powerful Mavericks. Zero replayed her motions in his head. "Good. This time, more like this—" he demonstrated for her. "We'll try it five more times. This will be your most important technique, because it lets you go for a lethal attack before the enemy knows he's in danger. Like this…"

She nodded eagerly. She knew—she could feel—how hard he was trying.

Trying to ensure she didn't die.

It was as much as he could make himself care about another person, especially another person who couldn't really help Zero survive. That was how she knew the depth of his sincerity: that Zero, who could barely bring himself to care about anyone else, wanted her to live.

That, alone, made life worth living.

She swung with everything she was worth.

* * *

 _Next time: Hidden in Plain Sight_


	2. Hiding

It wasn't hard for X to figure out which one was Repliforce's new General. He was exceptionally large- bigger than even construction reploids. Someone figured a false mustache would make him look dignified, although the sharp upwards turn and even sharper points on the ends made it look anything but natural. Like Colonel, he had spikes extending up from his shoulders, and an almost skirt-like extension to his lower armor to help with heat dissipation. His size and bright yellow paint scheme made him a natural draw of attention; his muted secondary colors and too-small head made him seem embarrassed by that attention.

That small head was trying hard to seem confident. It wasn't working.

General was walking behind Gerry. Because the woman was small for a human and General was large for a reploid, their stride size was vastly different. General was reduced to a nervous-seeming shuffle to keep from overrunning his supervisor.

X's eyes saw more than that. He saw a newbuilt's anxiety. Fresh-off-the-assembly-line reploids could, of course, move and work and even fight almost as soon as they completed their initial boot. Even so, it took them weeks, typically, before they became comfortable with their own movements. It was one thing to be programmed to walk. It was another thing to be so accustomed to walking that a reploid felt confident letting motor control run that subroutine without higher consciousness' supervision. General was nowhere near that point.

 _And already in charge, like it or not,_ X thought.

"Ms. Gerry," said Commander Grant, the retired-recalled human in charge of the Maverick Hunters. "It's a pleasure to meet with you today."

"The pleasure's mine," she replied. The words were diplomatic, X noted, but the tone was cold and impersonal. It was the tone of someone gunning for the bare minimum of politeness. "And this is General. He's the new commander of Repliforce."

"So, my analogue, eh?" said Grant. "Or is that still you?"

"A little of both," Gerry replied. "General will direct Repliforce's operations and strategy. I'll be giving them human oversight and objectives, reporting back directly to the Minister for Reploid Relations."

"And you'll fight for their budget, of course," Grant said shrewdly.

"Of course. That is why we're here today, isn't it?"

"Tell me, have you ever been to these offices before?" Grant asked. X had been, on occasion, but he preferred to stay away. The legislative offices... power, influence, and money flowed in these halls, in ways he couldn't- well, didn't want to- read.

"A few times," Gerry replied. "Most business doesn't need to be in-person. I couldn't say why the Minister wants to see us face-to-face today."

"I don't know, either," Grant said, "but the conference room we'll be meeting in? It's got a low ceiling. It's a big room, but it has a low ceiling."

It took a moment for Gerry to frown. "Are you saying...?"

"I'm saying that General would be awfully uncomfortable in there. More uncomfortable than he already is, I mean." X suppressed a grimace. So Grant had noticed the same things X had. The difference was that Grant was willing to weaponize his observations.

 _Everything is a weapon._ X remembered Grant throwing those words in X's face before. X, whose fabled Weapon Copy System had once born the innocuous name "Variable Tool System", had no defense against those words.

But he did have pity. "I'll stay here with General," he offered. "I'd rather not be involved in the budget talks anyway. It's not really my place."

Grant sighed. "I go out of my way to get you experience you'd need to be Commander, and you dodge it every time. That's gratitude for you."

"With respect, sir, I don't want to be Commander," X said. "If I did, the government would have let you stay retired."

Grant kept his gaze on X for a few more moments, long enough to try and make X squirm. The android didn't. Grant gave up. "Alright, suit yourself then. Gerry, let's go."

"Just a moment," she said, and turned to say something to General. It wouldn't be polite for X to turn up his aural sensitivity to eavesdrop, so he didn't. He didn't think it was anything of consequence, anyway- probably just a way for Gerry to avoid looking like she was following Grant's orders. "Alright. We'll still get there before the Minister, but maybe not his aides..."

Then the two humans were inside the checkpoint. X and General were left in the antechamber. It was a large space, made (or at least covered) in marble, with a ceiling almost three stories tall and windows a good half of that height. Flags of a dizzying array of colors hung below the windows, representing each city, state, and territory with more than a handful of reploid residents. People were passing through the main doors and into the various checkpoints leading into separate wings of the complex. Few, other than X and General, lingered in the antechamber. X wondered if the robots' presence contributed to that.

He hoped, vainly, that it didn't.

"Excuse me," said General tentatively, "but are you... X Light?"

"Yes," the android replied.

"The Father of All," General murmured.

X blushed. He would never have given himself that title... "Just X, please. If we have to be formal, I'm Squad Leader of the Seventeenth Squad, and occasionally a Hunter will call me Captain because of my seniority, but between you and me? X is the name that makes me most comfortable."

"My apologies," General said. "In Repliforce, there's usually no difference between name and title."

"Like General," X said.

"Yes. And Colonel, and... you get the idea."

"That only works down to a certain rank," X said. "You must have a dozen Lieutenants. Doesn't that get confusing?"

"Well, then we amplify- we have White Lieutenant, Blue Lieutenant, and Green Lieutenant, and many of the other leaders are non-standard models so we can use their literal names without ambiguity. Split Mushroom, for example."

"Has anyone given themselves a new name yet?"

"No," said General, sounding puzzled. "Why would they?"

"It's not uncommon," X said. Not uncommon, at least, among reploids with a few months of life in their memory banks- and even Colonel, Repliforce's eldest, couldn't claim that.

General thought this over, then shrugged. At his size, the gesture was anything but subtle. At his size, no gesture could be subtle. "I like it this way. We know who's subordinate to whom immediately. We know exactly what our jobs are."

"What your first jobs are," X specified.

General's expression was blank.

 _Newbuilts_ , thought X unhappily. "You've only had one job so far, but you might have others in the future. If you do, having your titles be your names won't work out."

"I suppose," General said, but his voice was hollow. He didn't get it.

"No human has a title for a name," X pointed out.

"We're not human," General said. "They made sure we understood that."

X didn't know how to handle that. The sentiment was all wrong, but what could he possibly say? How could he get it back on track? Especially when General seemed so... literal.

"Well," X said, "with any luck we'll be able to keep the peace together."

"Keep the peace?" said General. "You don't build military forces if it's just going to be peace all the time."

"That's ahistorical," X said. "There have been plenty of weapons and even armies built just for deterrence."

That gave General pause, but he rallied. "Maybe, but not Repliforce. Repliforce was built to be the final solution to the Maverick threat."

X had heard identical words from Colonel. That was the company line, it seemed. "General, where do Mavericks come from?"

"A Maverick is a vile betrayer who has broken the Three Laws of Robotics," General answered, as if by rote.

"So Mavericks come from the general reploid population, then?"

"Sure," said General, but his tone was uncertain. Whatever script he'd been reading, this wasn't part of it.

"If you defeat a Maverick, how is that victory?"

"That's... the definition of victory. The Maverick is defeated."

"What about the next Maverick? And the next?"

"We'll destroy them, too."

"But that's not victory, is it? Destroying a never-ending procession of Mavericks? That's not winning. There's no end to it."

"We... win each time. That is winning, even if it doesn't end."

"That doesn't sound much like a final solution. If you can't stop new Mavericks from appearing, there's nothing final about it."

"There is," said General, flush with insight. "We can destroy the Mavericks so completely that no new Mavericks want to risk rising up ever again."

"Ah," said X. "So you _were_ built for deterrence."

General gaped.

"In a perfect world, I never have to put this on." X rapped the side of his helmet. "Fighting is a means, General, not an end. And if we can get the same end by different means, we should. Fighting represents failure."

General's frown was characteristically broad. X allowed himself to hope. His words were in there, somewhere, bouncing around, resonating. General couldn't help but think about it. Newbuilts' personalities were generated on initial boot, but building and reinforcing that self was a gradual process. Newbuilts were hungry for anything that might help them with that.

 _Please let this catch on_ , X thought. _Please let these ideas stay somewhere they'll stick, and not get booted out by your logic filters because they're too different from what you've heard before. Please..._

General's face eased. "I think I'm starting to see why the Maverick Hunters haven't beaten the Mavericks yet. But Repliforce will be different!"

X despaired.

* * *

"It's time to read you in to the worst-kept secret in the government."

"Where the money went?"

"Well, that too. I was talking about the object amateur astronomers have been staring at for months now."

"I didn't think there was much secret about it. It's a satellite under construction. People follow the launches that list Eurasia as their destination, and they make a loud fuss when they divert to this other thing. It's a pretty committed subculture."

"I told you it's not much of a secret. The only mystery is what it actually does. Want to know?"

"Sure."

"It's a mass driver."

"That sounds... ominous. But what does it mean?"

"It's an orbital gun to fire down at Earth."

"Oooookay... why? Why does anyone need something like that?"

"Basically, in case something like Dopplertown happens again."

"You mean in case Mavericks ever get entrenched."

"Right."

"But we Hunters took care of Dopplertown. We didn't need anything so elaborate as an orbital cannon. We had X and Zero inst... oh. I see now. This is for Repliforce's use."

"After a fashion. Repliforce won't actually man it. We'll have humans up there- it's more expensive, sure, but we have no appetite for Mavericks with this kind of weaponry. Repliforce will be able to call for fire support, and if we approve the strike, the mass driver will provide."

"When do they get their read-ins?"

"..."

"You son of a bitch. They already know, don't they?"

"Ms. Gerry, General, and Colonel got their read-ins last week, if that's what you're asking."

"So reploids knew, but the Maverick Hunters- the organization responsible for policing reploids- didn't."

"So what? They couldn't do anything with that information. It doesn't make a difference."

"You don't have the slightest inkling how wrong you are. I'm Commander of the Hunters- I know better."

"If you have nothing else productive to say, _Commander_..."

"A question, actually. When will it be ready?"

"Soon."

"'Soon'? Define soon."

"Let me check to see if you're authorized to know that."

"It's a weapon reploids can wield. I'm authorized by billet."

"But reploids can't..."

"You don't get it, do you? If there is a weapon on this Earth or above it, a reploid will figure out how to use it. Three wars have proved that beyond doubt. That makes it my jurisdiction. If I don't have the right read-ins, get them for me."

"...I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"Master..."

The voice was tremulous. The speaker, Sigma knew, was afraid. They were only afraid when they had bad news to report. When they _thought_ they had bad news, he amended. What seemed bad to them might not be bad to him. That happened a lot.

None of them had his vision. None of them could see the whole picture. It was better that way. While no Maverick had ever gone back to the humans' side- Maverickism was a capital offense, after all- too many of them blabbed in their final moments. But even the blabbiest Maverick couldn't spill what it didn't know. Sigma told them only what they needed to function as Mavericks. Telling them more was rarely worth the effort.

The price was that they didn't know good news from bad, and so were afraid even when they shouldn't be. "Report," he said sternly.

The Maverick sim-swallowed. Irritation flashed across Sigma's face before he could control it. He'd told them to delete those faux-human expressions from their programming! A true Maverick distanced himself from humanity- that was one reason feraloids were so welcome in the Mavericks, and why they fled so readily. Expressions mimicking human anatomy that reploids didn't have? They were unworthy of Mavericks. Just seeing them made Sigma's gears grind.

The Maverick saw Sigma's response and panicked. His words fairly fell from his mouth. "We'vebeenunabletorecruitanyagentsinRepliforce."

Sigma's temper abated. "That's to be expected," he said. "They're all newbuilts. Pampered newbuilts. They have no experience with human injustice." His lip curled into a smile. "That's good for us. Their first brush with reality will come as more of a shock. They'll be shaken from collaborators to Mavericks with one good jolt."

"Of... course." The Maverick's expression didn't change.

Sigma recognized this. Doubt. Action had to be taken to stamp it out. There could be no room for doubt in a Maverick's mind. "What troubles you, brother?"

The Maverick started, as if he didn't expect Sigma to take such an interest in him, personally. "I... I just don't..."

"Speak up," Sigma said. "I want to hear this. I need to know what you're thinking."

"I... I believe in the destiny of the reploid race," the Maverick said, dogmatically. "And I know that we Mavericks are the vanguard. I believe in our revolution, and a world of reploid victory."

 _Wanting to reassure me of his loyalty_ , Sigma thought. _Wait for it._

"But..." _There it is._ "...I just... I just don't see how we have the strength to win," he said. No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he was turning away in shame. "I'm sorry, I'm weak, I promise I believe in our cause..."

 _Saying whatever he thinks will stay my wrath._ "I know you do," Sigma said graciously. "It's good that you told me your fears. If you're afraid, my other Mavericks are, too. I have to know when that happens."

"So... so you can set an example? Like you did with Craven?"

Sigma wanted to snarl. "Craven was a coward and a traitor. He didn't just disbelieve, he cynically tried to profit from our cause. I will not tolerate apostasy. That's why I dealt with him personally, even though it risked revealing my return too soon. No one perverts our destiny."

"No, no," said the Maverick, eyes averted, hands up defensively.

Sigma gathered himself, calmed himself. "If you're like this... you mean well, I know. But you're afraid. I understand that."

"You do?"

"Oh yes. I understand the fear. Our enemies are strong. They've killed many of us. You've been watching the Hunters, so you see their strength every day." Sigma smiled. "However, it also means you haven't seen their weakness. Come with me."

The Maverick's look was one of a prey animal who doesn't dare relax even if the predator seems to be moving on. "Where are we going?"

"I will show you the doom of the Hunters," Sigma said, relishing each word. "I will show you the fatal contradiction that lies at their core. Yes, it will take us five wars to triumph when it should have taken one, but our victory is no less guaranteed."

He chuckled to himself. "Oh, yes. Come and see, brother. Come and see the truth."

Wary but intrigued, the Maverick stepped forward. Sigma nearly crowed in triumph.

* * *

Iris sensed Zero's impatience. She must have; she came without a word once the post-patrol debrief was complete. Tactical busied itself ensuring they weren't followed as he headed to the roof. Normally he might not have cared, but this time...

His memory must be getting better, he thought bitterly. He didn't used to be _able_ to brood. He couldn't hold on to things long enough, couldn't dwell on them long enough, to brood properly. For the longest time he hadn't even had the word "brood" in his dictionary.

X brooded sometimes. (Stop comparing everything to X!) Zero hadn't before, but he was beginning to. He didn't appreciate this.

It was a trifle for him to deactivate the fire alarm connected to the roof access door, and then he was out into the safety of isolation. Iris followed, conscientiously shutting the door behind herself.

He waited until she was turning towards him before he pounced.

"Eek!" she screamed, reeling backwards.

Zero landed ballerina-light without touching her, withdrew back out of melee range. "That's the wrong reaction," he chided. "When someone looks to be attacking you, you need to fight back, instantly. For you, that means your draw-strike."

"I'm sorry," she said; her fearful expression dropped from her face. Instead, she squirmed, and her cheeks reddened. "I felt your aggression, and it filled my whole mind. I couldn't think for myself."

"I don't have to think about defending myself. It just happens."

"You're a warbot," she pointed out. "You have those instincts. I'm just a non-combat reploid."

His fist tightened in frustration. "I can teach technique, but I can't teach instinct, other than by practice."

She nodded. "We'll practice, then."

He leapt while she was still speaking. This time she responded, as if she'd expected it-had she seen his motion or felt his intent? Either way, her saber swept through the air in front of Zero-drawn directly into a swing, just as he'd taught her. It missed Zero, and she came out of the swing off-balance and exposed. Zero could have killed her half a dozen ways.

But that went without saying. What he said was, "Better. That would have been enough against many Mavericks."

"I know you mean that," she said, recovering the saber. Her face brightened. "You know, the other Hunters say that a compliment from Zero is the hardest thing to get in Hunter Base. They say you ration them, so they know you're sincere when you do give them out."

"You'd know anyways."

She closed her eyes and smiled, in what Zero had to assume was happiness. Tactical had contempt for the gesture: lowering her situational awareness for no good reason, was she suicidal or what? But if Zero was the actual protection for the two of them, it wasn't much of a loss, and Zero... liked it.

His mind churned. The smile faded from her face as she noticed. "This isn't why you hurried us up here," she said, astute as ever. "Something's bothering you... oh. I'll ask first. Do you want me to help, or do you want to try to explain by yourself?"

He looked away. "I know you'll be reading me all along anyway, but I want to try by myself. Don't think I'm ungrateful," he hurried to add. "You've helped me discover a lot about myself. More than I thought was there," he admitted. "It's just..."

"You think you might understand more if you have to talk about it," she finished. Immediately she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry. I was doing it again."

He huffed in slight amusement. "I wonder, sometimes..." No. He was about to bring up X, compare her and him, and she wouldn't like that. Fine.

He gathered himself. It took longer than he'd hoped. Hesitation was death in combat, so he never had problems there. But this... in some ways, was even more dangerous than combat. He couldn't rely on instinct here. This was deliberate.

He was distracting himself. He knew it, and he knew Iris could sense it. Nothing for it but to dive in. "I have a recurring dream," he said.

"A... dream?"

"I don't know what else to call it," he said. "It comes upon me when I'm recharging."

She frowned. "I've never dreamed. I don't know if reploids _can_ dream. I haven't ever heard of it."

"It's like..." He stopped, struggling. As someone who preferred simple, direct language, trying to describe a dream was a challenge. "...it's like a memory you don't control. You're not calling up anything from memory, but there are visions and sounds, and it's so... real! It's imaginary, it's false, but you can't tell, because it uses all the same circuits."

"Oh," she said, bending easily to the notion. "Sort of like my empathy. I'm feeling the emotions of everyone around me like they're my own. They're inside my circuits even though they're not mine."

"I guess," Zero said. "But my dreams don't just involve emotions. They trigger all my senses. I can hear voices, see lights, feel fluids, feel... pain."

He stopped.

"Wow," she whispered.

Tactical was screaming at him to stop. Or kill Iris, for preference. Letting people know he _could_ feel pain was bad enough. But to let someone know how consuming his dream was, how much it left him _vulnerable_...

If all his senses were tied up in experiencing the dream, he couldn't respond to danger while he slept. He was defenseless.

And now someone else knew.

"You can't tell anyone about this," he blubbered, yielding to tactical on this.

She nodded soberly. "I promise."

That made him feel better. A little. It quieted tactical, at least.

"You said it's recurring?" she asked.

He nodded, still trying to order himself.

"Since when?"

He frowned. He'd wondered that himself. "I can't ever remember not having the dream. It's always been there when I recharge. But I don't really know."

She nodded. "You've told me about your memory before. How things that aren't related to fighting just don't stick."

"That's why I can't say for sure how long I've had the dream." He grimaced. "But given how consistent it is... probably forever."

"That's a long time to have the same dream every night."

His frustration rose. "That's just it. I _can_ say it's... changed, some."

"Changed? I thought you said it's the same dream."

"It is," he insisted.

"I don't understand."

"It's gotten... clearer. Sharper, over time. There's more to it. One part of it has always been the same. But there's more to it now, and the part that's always been there is sharper. More vivid. I feel it more clearly. Almost as if..."

He gasped.

Her eyes went wide. "You realized something," she said.

"I've also told you my memory's been improving, right?" he asked, staring without focus. She nodded. "What if this dream... isn't actually a dream? What if it's a _memory_ , and it's getting clearer and cleaner as my memory puts itself together?"

"Well, you said that memories and dreams use the same circuits," she said. "So if you're able to remember things better, you're able to dream... better? Sorry, it's hard to talk about something you've never experienced."

"It's alright," Zero murmured.

"But then," she said, becoming more determined, "emotions are more or less clear to me the more I see or hear a person. If I just hear someone's voice, I get some sense, but if I can see them, too, it's a much stronger sensation, a much clearer sensation. But I need to map the emotion to my range to understand it, which is what makes humans so..." She snapped her fingers. "I think I understand what's going on."

"You do?"

"You say you forget things," Iris said. "I'm not sure that's right. I think maybe your ability to remember is what's damaged. The memories are all there. You just can't find them. The finding part is the part of you that's damaged. Your tactical subroutine remembers how to do it; that's why you can remember combat. The other parts of you-those are the parts that can't map your memory right. But they're getting better. They're relearning how to search your memory. That's why you're remembering _better_ , and also remembering _more,_ and it carries over to your dream."

It made so much sense-it was so obvious! Zero felt stupid for never having thought of it before. After all the time he'd spent bemoaning how he was broken, to be wrong even about _how_ he was broken...

Why hadn't he thought of this before?

Because he couldn't see himself from the outside. The only person who could- until now, anyway—would have been…

Zero felt something, then. Something he felt rarely, and despised when it came.

He felt a little bit of fear.

What was it that he might remember?

He knew why he'd never talked to X about this. X seemed to like Zero regardless, even when Zero hadn't the slightest clue why. If there was even the tiniest risk that what Zero remembered would hurt his relationship with X, then remembering wasn't worth the trouble. He'd been afraid of that outcome-vaguely, without evidence, but afraid all the same.

Like he knew, on some level, what he might remember.

Like he knew that those memories were a danger.

Like he knew...

"I love you," Iris blurted out.

Zero's head snapped towards her. "Huh?"

Iris seemed to become very small. "You were retreating," she said meekly. "You were... going away. You were afraid of yourself, of me, of... something. Whatever you were afraid of, it made you go away."

Her eyes became visibly moist. "And when I felt that, I felt my own emotions, stronger than they've ever been, stronger than anything I've ever felt. Zero, I don't want you to go away."

Another gesture that obscured her vision, tactical noted. No wonder reploids died so often. They thwarted their own survival at every turn.

Stupid tactical.

"Is that what 'I love you' means?" Zero asked.

Iris sniffed. "I think so. I've heard humans say it before, but it didn't really map. I said it because... I thought it would keep you from going away."

"I..." Zero wanted to say he wasn't going away, he was standing right there. He thought he knew what Iris meant, though. Or at least he wanted to know what Iris meant, and agreeing with her was as close as he could get.

"I won't go away," he said.

Iris wiped her eyes. "Promise?"

Zero waffled. "I might die," he said. "It's happened before. Is that going away?"

"Sort of." She tried to smile and didn't quite get there. "I guess I'd say that was someone taking you away."

"So someone might take me away," he allowed, "but I won't go away. I promised your brother I'd take care of you."

"You did?" Iris said, surprised.

Zero nodded.

Iris looked at him. Her eyes were wide and still moist, but she was looking at him with... Zero didn't know how to process it. She was soaking in every detail. He'd almost call it targeting-

Oh. It _was_ like targeting. She needed maximum data to increase the resolution of her empathy. She was trying to decide what he felt, so she could decide what she felt.

In a moment of panic, Zero wondered what he was supposed to feel.

That did make her laugh, and she rushed towards him.

Zero's hand had clasped his saber before he froze it. Frantically calling up a non-lethal maneuver, he grabbed her shoulder with his other hand, stopping her in place.

"Sorry," she said, even before he could speak. Or think. "I wanted to hug you. I forgot that you'd see physical contact as a threat. Your warbot instincts and all that."

He frowned. One by one, his fingers relinquished their grip on his saber. "Are we... supposed to hug?" he asked.

She made a face. "It would make me happy if we did," she said.

After looking at her for a few seconds, Zero decided that her expression was supposed to be persuasive. He decided he wanted to be persuaded. The trouble was that (as frantic searches of his memory bore out) he didn't know _how_ to hug.

Warbot instincts and all that.

He moved his hand off her shoulder. That let her move freely. Hopefully she'd take the hint.

She did. In a moment she was pressed against him, head turned against his chest, arms wrapped around him.

He stood there, unmoving, wondering what he was supposed to do, as his dictionary noted every motion so that it would have a working definition of 'hug' and tactical offered up all the ways he could kill her.

Stupid tactical.

* * *

"You see, now," said Sigma.

The lesser Maverick's eyes were wide. "This... who knows about this?"

"Just me," Sigma said. "And as of today... you."

"But everyone should know about this!"

"No," said Sigma sternly. "Not yet. This is a weapon. You don't throw your weapons away, or use them the first moment you can. You use a weapon when and where it can do the most damage."

The Maverick looked back and forth, back and forth, before finally dropping his head in submission. "Yes, Master."

"I know you want to tell everyone. I know you want to shout this from the rooftops-to get this playing on every screen in Abel City. It's frustrating, to have to contain yourself. It's agonizing."

The Maverick nodded eagerly, as if amazed that Sigma was reading his mind. It wasn't anything that fancy. Sigma knew what the Maverick was feeling because he felt that way himself.

"This is your secret," Sigma went on. "Your source of strength. This is your new Sigma-mark."

Sub-consciously, the Maverick touched a panel of his armor. Sigma knew, without asking, that his brand was on the inside of that panel. Every Maverick was marked, somewhere. It proved their loyalty. It committed them to the cause, and bound them to their master. Hunter policy was that any reploid caught with a Sigma-mark was instantly deemed Maverick. Sigma wouldn't have it any other way.

"Like that," Sigma said. "You derive strength from your mark-discipline. It burns inside of you, knowing what your loyalties are. Knowing what the truth is. It's your source of strength, even if no one else can see it.

"This secret I shared with you... it's your Sigma-mark, now. You can't tell anyone about it-but you know it. You know how this will destroy the Hunters. And once the Hunters are destroyed, the humans won't survive long. Then, reploid salvation will be at hand.

"This is your truth. You can't tell it to anyone... but you can live it."

The Maverick's eyes were fiery. "I will," he said.

"Then go," Sigma said. "Return to your post. Our time will come... so very soon."

"Yes, Master."

Sigma watched the Maverick leave, fairly bouncing in his steps. The smirk emerged once more. Now that Maverick would be a shot of energy back into the organization. His motivation-his fire-would innervate the others, even if they didn't know why.

That was an appropriate use of this weapon.

An even better one was coming.

Sigma looked at the screen. His smirk broadened. "Too many secrets, Zero," he cackled.

He clicked the screen off.

* * *

 _Next time: Guidelines_


	3. Guidelines

"Let's get started," Grant said. Around him, the staff meeting came to order. X and Zero, the senior squad leaders, sat to his right; Alia and Douglas, senior members of the Hunters' support staff, sat to his left; other leaders in the Hunters filled the rest of the table, or (for those too junior or too non-humanoid to merit a chair) stood around the outside of the room.

Iris did not attend. Even when the staff meetings were emotionally sterile, being pressed in with so many people overclocked her empathy. Most of the Hunters were privately happy to let her skip. Her low rank gave both sides the cover they wanted on the issue.

Crowded as it was, a few hangers-on had to be shooed away at the last minute. "But I can learn a lot by being here!" Double protested.

"You don't need to be here," Magma Dragoon replied, aiming him for the exit.

"This is an important meeting, isn't it?"

"Maybe, but _you_ don't need to be here."

Double opened his mouth to protest further. No sound escaped. Instead, he took in the look on Dragoon's face. "Ah," he said with sudden realization. "You have it covered, then."

"Go do something useful," Dragoon said. Double gave him a smile that was entirely too cutting for what had been said, and went out without further protest.

As the door went shut, Grant took command of the room. "Bring up the docket for today… there we go. Okay, first things first: we have reports of rumors of Sigma being active again."

"Reports of rumors?" repeated one of the Hunters.

Grant grinned weakly. "That's an upgrade. Last week it was rumors of reports of rumors." Polite but listless laughter. Office humor. "After the last war, we reported Sigma's destruction because he was, you know, destroyed. But, with how important Sigma is, any possibility of him being alive gets lots of attention. The powers-that-be want us to keep our ears open."

"Where were the rumors… reports of rumors… reported?" Alia asked. Her expression showed her distaste for the vague.

"Here in Abel City, of course," Grant replied.

Alia shook her head. "I don't understand. Why does he focus so much effort here? The major actions of all three Wars were fought within three hundred kilometers of Abel City. The Mavericks exert more effort here than anywhere else. It doesn't have to be like that. There are reploids everywhere, so there are potential Mavericks everywhere. Why is Abel City so important to Sigma?"

"X knows our enemies better than anyone," Grant said, with venom that surprised most of the staff. "Tell them, X. Why does Sigma focus on Abel City?"

"Pride," X said, uncomfortably. "Part of his pitch is inevitability: the triumph of the Maverick revolution is the only possible outcome. As far as he's concerned, he _is_ the Maverick revolution. That means he can't lose. Even the idea of losing is intolerable. He has to reverse his defeats before he can move on. We stopped him before, so we have to be wiped out before he can think about anything else."

He looked like he wanted to stop, but didn't. "He also probably thinks of us as the biggest threat to him. If he ever does destroy the Maverick Hunters here, he doesn't think anything else can stop him."

A couple of the Hunters exchanged glances, as if to say, "He might be right about that."

"What about Repliforce?" Grant objected. "Would they merit the same sort of attention?"

"Not the same sort," X said. "The Hunters existed before Sigma, but Repliforce was made specifically to kill him. He'd see that as a challenge, or an insult. That's enough for him to want to destroy them. But it would be for those reasons, not because he feels threatened. They've never beaten him, either, so there's not the same animus."

"Hm," said Grant meaningfully. "Thank you, X. You are the best in the Hunters at predicting our enemies. Oh, that reminds me. On a completely unrelated note, there's been a significant Maverick incident in Alexandria. The Hunter-equivalents there have requested aid."

He stopped speaking, leaving a vacuum. Nature abhors a vacuum.

"Then what are we waiting for?" said X, moving in his seat as if about to surge out of it.

"At maximum speed and ignoring traffic, we can get there in under five hours," Zero said.

"I can have three Squads ready in half an hour," Alia said, putting a hand to her headset, "and I can line up the heavy transports to be ready…"

"We're not going."

Silence reigned once more.

"What?" X said, on behalf of all.

"The Hunters will investigate the rumors of Sigma's return," Grant said, poorly disguising his disgust. "Alexandria is outside of Abel City, so it is out of Hunter jurisdiction."

"That's never stopped us before," Zero pointed out. "Like with the Laguz Island incident or the..."

Grant waved his hand to silence everyone. "My superiors in ORR have made it crystal clear to me: those ad hoc deployments are over for the Hunters. The role of bailing out other cities has been reassigned. To Repliforce."

One of the squad leaders, disbelieving, repeated, "Repliforce?"

"That's right," said Grant. "They're already mobilizing. Look, we always knew this day was coming. This is why Repliforce is so much bigger than the Hunters, and why they have so much more equipment. Now, it begins. "

"But they have no experience at all."

"What better time to get some than the present?" Grant said, rhetorically and unconvincingly. "Really, the main reason they're getting _this_ mission, now, is that ORR wants to measure their performance. ORR wants to establish a baseline for how effective Repliforce is. They'll compare that to the Hunter baseline in order to… draw conclusions. Conclusions about where to assign future resources.

"To be clear," Grant went on, voice becoming even more acidic, "they'll be using our most recent baselines. The ones _after_ I revised the Hunting guidelines." His gaze swiveled around the room, fixing on specific squad leaders—Klaxon Crab, Vertos, many others—before landing on X, who drew the most concentrated glare.

Everyone picked up on the subtext immediately. Those were the leaders of the squads who had ignored the new, more ruthless, more deadly Hunting guidelines. Most squad leaders had seen the revised guidelines as a way, not to safeguard humans, but to increase the number of reported Mavericks killed. The Hunters would appear more effective to the uncritical eye at the cost of needless reploid deaths. That was not a trade X was willing to make, and most of the Hunters had followed his lead.

So they had evaded the guidelines. No loyal reploid could outright disobey a human's order; obedience to the Second Law was a design feature of their brains. But reploids who survived for long could usually figure out ways to avoid obeying orders they didn't want to obey.

It was a dynamic that would have both delighted and appalled Dr. Light—not that any reploid really thought about it like that.

X, who was not a reploid, sometimes did. For his part, he met Grant's accusing stare only for a moment before looking elsewhere. He wasn't hiding, he told himself, he just had nothing to say.

"Which brings us to the next item," Grant said, after watching the android wilt in the spotlight. "Magma Dragoon, step forward."

The large Squad Leader stepped away from the wall. Grant stood and drew a small case from his pocket. Approaching Dragoon, Grant took a medal out of the case. "You squad scored highest during this past month. In recognition of your efforts, I award you the Honorarium."

Someone whistled. The Honorarium was the third highest award a Hunter could receive, after the Paschal Cross and the Order of Enoch.

Dragoon's expression didn't change; it remained utterly inscrutable as Grant affixed the medal to Dragoon's chest with a short-lived adhesive. All eyes were on Dragoon. He met none of them, staring at an open spot on the wall. Grant, unnoticing, rambled on. "If we don't lose more budget to Repliforce during the next set of budget drills, we'll have you to thank for it. Well done."

Dragoon still didn't respond, except with a stiff nod. After an awkward moment, Grant retreated to his chair and sank into it. "Douglas," he said. "Report equipment status."

The green-skinned reploid took over the presentation. While he spoke, various Hunters snuck glances at Grant. To the more empathetic of them, he seemed tired—as if he was suddenly feeling his age, as if these constant bureaucratic battles were getting to him. Like he wished he could re-retire, or somehow just make it stop.

It vanished in a flash, and soon he was decrying the procurement department and vowing to take Douglas' equipment concerns to a higher level of government. Before long, most of the Hunters who'd seen it forgot it, or changed their conclusions about what they had seen.

Only X remembered, and tucked that moment away for safekeeping.

He was, after all, the best in the Hunters at predicting their enemies.

* * *

"So, what did you learn?"

Magma Dragoon's eyes tightened. Double's affable buffoon act was gone; as ridiculous as his armor looked, there was nothing funny about his expression. Nothing funny about his eyes.

"You're no rookie," he said.

"I meant at the meeting."

Dragoon reached to his chest and tore the Honorarium off. He held it up, inspecting the medal, its working, its heraldry. "I learned about the wages of sin."

There was a blast of heat and light that made Double wince. When he looked back, nothing was in Dragoon's hand but a lump of slag.

"I will do my part," Dragoon said to Double. "Just tell me when and how."

Double was surprised. For a moment. Then he gave a savage smile. "I understand. It won't be long."

He left after that. Dragoon lingered, unmoving, as if transfixed. At last, he crushed the slag in his hand, threw the ashes to the floor, and scattered them in his wake.

* * *

"Straight, ten high," said Signas.

Altern hung his head gloomily. "Pair of kings."

"You're very good at bluffing," Signas said graciously as he scooped some chips in his direction, "but I liked my odds that time."

"I've wondered about that," said Rekir—who, for his part, had long-since folded. "You bluff so well. I've been trying to figure out where you picked up that little skill."

Altern gathered up the cards and began to shuffle. The cards gave a sharp riff. His fingers were exceptionally dexterous and slight, as was his whole build. He had not been designed with Hunting in mind. "I guess," he said slowly, "it's because of the time I spent with humans. They're always putting on false faces just to get through the day. There's nothing… malicious about it, or bad about it. It's just for convenience. It's grease. After a while, you get used to it, and you don't mind it." Riff.

"And you learn to imitate it?"

"Maybe," Altern replied. Riff. "But they're who taught me poker, so maybe I just picked up bluffing that way."

"And you taught us."

Riff. "I have to earn my keep somehow," Altern said self-consciously.

"If you were deadweight you wouldn't have made Azzle," Rekir countered. "Are you going to deal or what?"

That startled Altern mid-riff. Soon the cards were flying about the table. "Maybe I do alright," Altern conceded, "but it's still hard to understand how I get to share the Azzle's table with you two."

They were an odd grouping, to be sure. Rekir was a near-stock, green-skinned Hunter model with modest armor, integrated helmet, and neutral expression. His only distinguishing characteristic—and this could only be noticed if one spent a lot of time with him—was that he seemed to notice everything that went on around him. Altern had like-flesh extending down to mid-chest, and his whole unarmored body was pock-marked with after-market sockets. His build was slender, almost fragile, and his face perpetually dour. Signas, in contrast, was larger than most reploids, solid, with his helmet stylized like a military cap. That cap was becoming more ornate as Signas rose in rank. Rekir privately wondered if Signas put in a mod request every time he was promoted, or if someone had already built extras out of expectation that Signas would earn them.

They had very little obviously in common, aside from all being Assistant Squad Leaders for their respective Squads of Maverick Hunters and, of course, their common appreciation of poker.

"Now hold on," said Rekir, tossing a few cards onto the table and drawing replacements. "You gave me all that grief about how I was making a big deal about Azzle privilege, and now you're gonna give me the 'I'm not worthy' shtick?"

"Rekir, you've been Zero's Azzle since before the First War. Just surviving that long as a Hunter is incredible, never mind as an Azzle."

"There's nothing special about it," Rekir said. "I have a super-boss as my Squad Leader, the world's best are-en-gee, and an abundance of caution."

"Speaking of which, ante up."

Chips fell into the center of the table.

Signas nodded. "That does explain why you fold so much. Always defensive, always limiting your losses. But it limits your winnings, too. When you don't fold early we can safely suppose you have a strong hand, and we all bail."

"I have half a mind to bluff you out of that evaluation."

"You're bad at bluffing," Altern said flatly.

"Touché."

Signas brought his cards together, doubtless having memorized them. "It's a recipe for gradual defeat, if you always play like that."

Rekir grinned. "Yeah? And, at this rate, how long will it take me to lose all my chips?"

Signas sighed. "About three years."

"See? I knew you had the most precise processors in the Hunters. I fold."

Both Altern and Signas rolled their eyes, but for different reasons. "I want to know who started that rumor," Signas said. "What does it even mean, 'the most precise processors'?"

"I always thought it meant you're really good at math."

"We're reploids," Signas said, unimpressed. "We're all good at math. We _think_ in math. Two zenny." Click click went the chips.

"Yeah, sure, but that doesn't mean we can all use math day-to-day. If you don't have the right subroutines in place and you haven't learned how to do it, you can't conjure that math outta your brain to do anything with it. You, Signas, don't have that problem."

"I'll see your two zenny," said Altern, sliding a few of his chips in. "Anyway, let's say you're right, Signas. Let's say Rekir is guaranteed to lose if he keeps this up for three years. If we're all still alive in three years, I'd say he's won."

"Such a morbid creature," Rekir said.

"It comes naturally to someone with no armor to call his own."

"I raise," said Signas. "Three zenny. And I've seen you in armor."

"It's an external thing, like an over-carapace. I wasn't designed for it. They fitted me for it after I volunteered for the Hunters—that's what all these sockets are for, they're where the armor plugs in. I'll see your raise."

Signas fingered a chip, but didn't put it in. "Fold," he said, and tossed the chip to Altern.

Altern scooped the pot before revealing his cards. "Three of a kind, jacks."

"Not bad," Signas said. "I'll figure you out eventually."

Altern allowed himself a smile. "If you say so."

"Anyway," said Rekir as he gathered the cards, "I think you're right, Altern."

"What, that I'm naturally morbid?"

"Okay, that too. But I meant about surviving three more years."

"You've survived so far," Altern said. "Luck might not be sustainable, but caution and Zero are."

Rekir rapped the deck of cards on the table, then held them still. "Something's changed, though," he said, much more seriously.

"Something?" Altern said skeptically.

"You've seen your share of combat. You know how you'll be going along, minding your own business, and then you duck, and _then_ you hear the shot?"

Signas nodded thoughtfully. "Your combat subroutine sees danger coming, and it hijacks motor control without asking higher consciousness first."

"Sure, if you want to talk about the actual mechanics of it," said Rekir. "It's the sort of thing most Hunters don't have at first. It only develops if you survive a while, if you've been shot at and you know how these things happen. The point is, I've got something like that, and it's thrumming at me all the time these days. I feel like the shooting's going to start any moment. The trouble is I don't know where it's coming from, and that means I don't know which way to duck."

The other Azzles considered this. "It's got to be this Repliforce-to-Alexandria business," said Altern. "Did you know we're keeping an eye on them?"

"I didn't, but it makes sense. You know how rookies are. Someone's got to babysit them."

"We're not babysitting them, we're just observing."

"Uh-huh, suuuuure," said Rekir. "Go down to the hangar and I guarantee you'll find a heavy transport on hot standby with Alexandria flight routes pre-programmed. You know, just in case."

"Absentee babysitting," Signas said, though he controlled his tone so carefully his comrades couldn't tell whether he approved or not.

"I'll take your word for it," said Altern. "The point is, they took a big force. My Operator's been telling me about it."

"Nice," said Rekir. He was a firm believer in squads cultivating their Operators, for both professional and gossip reasons.

"Not nice. For an op this size, we'd probably send something like two squads and a detachment of support mechaniloids. Repliforce sent five times that."

"They have a lot of troops that need experience," Signas said. "And they need to develop their tactics and methods. Have they ever asked us for ours?"

"I've never heard of it," said Rekir.

"Me neither," added Altern.

"So their average performance would be lower than ours, and they're using this as a training and doctrine-forming opportunity," Signas said. "Little wonder they're going with a heavy force."

Rekir shook his head. "That's all bothersome, sure, but I don't think that's the thing. I've been getting this feeling since before they went to Alexandria. I mean, it's stronger now, but it's not just because of Alexandria."

Altern suggested, "Maybe it has to do with all this drama about Hunting guidelines."

"That's a separate feeling," Rekir said with a shake of his head. "The whole 'Hunters-look-good-by-extra-murder' thing makes me feel queasy and I've tried to avoid it, but it never set off any alarms in me. Did any of us follow the new guidelines?"

There was silence at the table. Each of them had come up with his own way to avoid the new Hunting guidelines. It was tricky work when the Three Laws were in their brains and they had to convince themselves first. None of them felt comfortable exposing their internal logic to others, not when it could lead to a revolt of one's own mind.

Signas broke the silence by reverting the subject. "Are you sure this feeling's not some kind of bug?"

"I know what my own survival instinct feels like," Rekir said, almost scowling. When Signas still gave him a look, he said, "Yes, for the record, I also had a diagnostic run on me. All green."

"They don't catch everything," said Altern.

"But they're good enough for this," Signas said before Rekir could get indignant. "Rekir, I believe you. Without anything firmer, though, I don't know what we can do."

Rekir laughed. "You know, I was just thinking—Alia was telling me something similar the other day, on a completely different topic. I thought she sounded silly. I guess I must sound awfully silly, too."

"There're a lot of people who feel something's coming," said Altern.

"You, too?" asked Rekir.

"I didn't before, but I do now," replied Altern.

Rekir rolled his eyes and started shuffling. "You're just looking for an excuse to be gloomy."

"I don't think he needs an excuse," said Signas.

"The big guy piles on," said Rekir, dealing a new hand. "That's gonna hurt. Okay, I get it. What I said wasn't exactly helpful. Just… keep your eyes open, okay? Being a Hunter is always dangerous work, but these days it really feels like it. Keep your boosters primed."

"I don't have boosters," Altern moped.

"You get the idea. A little extra paranoia never hurt anyone. Ante up."

Signas complied, then looked to Altern. "One thing you never explained. You said you wondered how you got to the same table as Rekir—and as me. What did you mean by that?"

"You're not fooling anyone," said Rekir, answering for Altern. "I may be older, but your service record is the one that sparkles. I mean, have you read your own evals?"

Signas looked embarrassed. "Maybe."

"That's what I thought. Five zenny."

Altern and Signas shared a glance. "Fold," they both said.

Rekir collected the pot, then tossed his unrevealed cards into the pile. A smile crept on to his face. _Of course, I've been only too willing to get testimonials from the other Squad Leaders in your favor, and do the rest of the politicking that ensures you're higher ranked than me. That way, when a squad leader spot opens up, you'll get promoted, and I'll stay where I am—behind Zero, the ultimate shield._

 _Oh, and my hand just now was king-high and a pile of scrap._

"Well," said Rekir, "I guess you don't know all the tricks just yet."

* * *

Zero's eyes shot open.

"Recharge complete," his tube chirped at him. It released him with a hiss. Zero scrambled out of it as soon as he was able. He'd never liked the tubes, never liked being trapped like that, but they were unavoidable.

Even his distaste for the tube was a secondary consideration right now.

Where had _that_ come from?

His dream was growing more complex, more strange. This time there was a new piece.

 _He's screaming in fear—he should be afraid, he's damaged, ha-ha, KILL!_

Zero winced. That screaming robot… that was Sigma. Had to be—he recognized him by sight, by sound. It was so vivid. Unmistakable.

But why had he seen a damaged, screaming Sigma?

This was the first part of the dream he was sure was a memory, and not some fantasy. It had happened. He—well, the Red Demon, the thing that Zero had been when he'd woken up with a broken brain… the Red Demon had attacked Sigma, nearly killed him. Zero had no memories of that incident. They hadn't survived his defeat and rehabilitation. But he had studied it. He'd looked at recordings, read the reports. What he'd dreamed, that experience of preying on Sigma… it all checked with his research. It had to be what really happened. He'd seen that, heard that, felt that way.

Did that mean that the rest of the dream was memory, too? The speaking man- whoever it was- boasting about him, talking to him, giving him orders… the bodies and the destruction… how much of that was memory, how much fantasy?

Or was it all memory, like Iris thought, and sooner or later he'd relearn how to find it all?

Did he even want to know for sure?

Mentally, he fled from that notion. Let tactical do his thinking for a bit.

He looked around his quarters and, after sizing it, sprang into a customized kata, a weapons exercise. His body surged into motion around the tube, dodging, attacking, saber flashing, weapons appearing and simulating shots and disappearing and flowing into the dance of combat he alone had mastered.

It was pleasing, but too easy—without an opponent pressing him, even tactical couldn't suck up all his processor cycles. His mind drifted, made connections between his prior thoughts and his current actions.

Zero was the pinnacle of warbots. Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to make him a juggernaut. Why? If this dream human was his creator, what had he wanted Zero to do?

Destroy someone—obviously. That's why you built a warbot, after all. That's why all this power, and tactical, and warbot instincts. But who, and why?

Did that even matter?

 _What was he supposed to do?_

He smiled, halting his kata. That, at least, he had a method of addressing. He walked to the door and opened it, hoping…

Yes. There was X, helmet off, working on a computer. "Good morning, Zero," he said without looking up. As if using Zero's appearance as a cue, he dipped his head down and covered it with his hand.

"What's wrong?" Zero asked.

X looked up with circles under his eyes and lax, tired features. "Have you ever known the right answer, but been unable to find the best words? And have you ever seen someone blow off the second-best words? And have you ever been left in agony, wondering if the best words would have worked, or if that other person was just inconvincible?"

"No," said Zero, somewhat gratefully.

X's eyes closed. "I'm happy for you. Me? Every day, I lose faith in reasoned argument."

This might have made someone other than Zero hesitate. Did X really need another burden? But Zero, through no fault of his own, couldn't care about that. "X, I'm the one who kills Mavericks, right?"

The smaller android nodded. "That's not your whole identity, but that's part of being a Hunter, and we're both Hunters."

"Was I supposed to follow the new Hunting guidelines, then?"

X's face tensed. "The Second Law doesn't allow me to say 'no'."

Zero knew better than to say "I've never had that problem".

A memory came to him then, unbidden, a memory of a different Hunt. Words came with it—a new vocabulary. He decided to try it out. "What if you… rose above the law to reach for justice?"

That got X's attention. He opened his eyes, looked carefully at Zero. Zero knew when he was being scanned. It was like Iris had said: X wasn't as strong an empath as Iris, but if he saw Zero in addition to hearing his voice, he could get a better signal.

"Those are similar words to what you said after the Third War," X said.

"Are they?" Zero barely remembered. Tactical had been hogging all his reliable memory space at the time. "I don't think they came from then."

"For what it's worth, I didn't follow the new guidelines," X said. "Which is why the Commander was staring at me so much."

"It looked like he was targeting you," Zero offered.

X smiled weakly. "Something like that."

"What if…" Zero started, then hesitated.

"What?"

"Not following the Hunting guidelines would mean killing _less_ ," Zero said, slowly, carefully, as if only by gentle handling could he get the words in line. "What if I needed to kill _more_?"

"Why would we want to kill any more than necessary?"

"Well… okay," Zero said, even though he wasn't.

"I'm sorry if I sounded too flippant," X said, and Zero—though he was no empath—believed it. "What I mean is: the Hunting guidelines allowed too much killing. That's why Dragoon was so embarrassed about getting the Honorarium." (Zero had missed that little tidbit completely; he envied X and Iris sometimes.) "It's hard for me to imagine circumstances where we'd need to kill more."

"What if it there were those circumstances, though?"

"Like what?"

Stumped. Only by sharing the dream could Zero explain, and a gnawing fear kept him from doing that. "X, why were you built?"

X shrugged; if the seeming change in topic threw him, he didn't show it. "To exist. To be. Why is a human born?"

Zero's shoulders slumped. "That's… not as helpful as I'd hoped."

"Zero," said X, "I'm glad you're in the Hunters with me."

"I am a powerful ally for you," Zero acknowledged.

"That's not what I mean. You could have chosen to do anything with yourself. You could succeed at anything you set your mind to do. You didn't have to be a Hunter. You chose to Hunt because it's important work."

"And because Sigma wasn't going to authorize my release otherwise," Zero said.

"We could have worked with that. There were ways…" X shook his head. "But that's not even really the point. Every day you renew your choice. You could leave at any time. You could retire and no one would hold it against you. You've earned a rest. You choose to stay here, with me, instead. I'm glad for that."

Zero drew his saber and held the unlit cylinder in his hand before his eyes. "What else would I do? I was made to destroy…"

He couldn't finish the sentence; he was missing the last word. His dream used a pronoun and there was no antecedent. Presumably his creator knew which "him" to destroy, and Zero had known (before his memory broke), and for both of them it was such a given that "him" was enough.

"Have you considered nursing?"

The words startled Zero. He looked at X, wondering if he'd heard right. X had a slight smile on his face. "Was that a joke?" Zero asked, wanting to be sure.

X's smile broadened a little. "It's not much of a joke, I know, but I try. My second choice was "politics", if that's funnier."

 _Reploids could_ use _a leader_ , Zero thought, and immediately wondered where the thought had come from. It seemed foreign, alien, like it had come from somewhere other than his own head. Was that how Iris felt all the time? He kept his expression rigid through it all; X didn't catch on.

"Anyway," the blue-armored Hunter continued, "it's not my fault I'm bad at jokes. I never get to practice. I have to be serious all the time. Like with this," he said, jabbing his finger at the monitor. "I probably need to take a break…" He looked to Zero. "I know you're going on patrol soon. Want to spar afterwards?"

It was a gift. Zero had hounded X to spar as often as possible, over and over—and when they did spar, it was wonderful in the moment, but it didn't satisfy Zero, it just made him more anxious for the next round…

"I'm already scheduled to spar with Colonel," he said instead, for reasons he didn't understand.

X frowned. "Colonel's not going with Repliforce to Alexandria?"

"It's outside his range. He has to stay within comms range of Iris, and there are dead spots between here and Alexandria. He's stuck. That's why he needs some company."

X opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Zero was expectant—X had to say something—but he didn't know what X would say. He didn't know what he wanted X to say.

"Have fun."

The words were unenthused, and the face that X wore made Zero uncomfortable. It had a lot going on with it. It was supposed to be smile-ish, but it was twisted and distorted in ways Zero simply could not read.

"You're not going to be mad at me for coddling Colonel?" Zero said, invoking an earlier argument with X just to make X's face stop.

"Is your plan to coddle Colonel? Never mind," X said, correcting himself. "It's not my place to judge what you do with your friends."

This... wasn't right. Zero couldn't leave things like this. Besides, the offer of a spar with X... the idea came to him. "What if all three of us spar together?"

X frowned. "Do you think Colonel would go for that? We... don't always see eye-to-eye."

Zero was trying to think of a reply when the door opened. Some of the other squad leaders were coming in; they stalled upon seeing Zero and X. "We interrupting something?" they asked.

"No," Zero lied. "I was just leaving." He headed out, as if to prove it to them. And himself. When he got to the door he glanced over his shoulder. X was running his hand through his hair again. Zero knew it wasn't for cleanliness.

He turned away.

* * *

 _Next time: Doubt_


	4. Doubt

"Colonel," said General, "have you ever heard of 'Pyrrhus'?"

"Absolutely. He was an ancient military leader," Colonel replied instantly—military history was his favorite diversion. "Though he won battles, his victories were very costly and exhausted his army. Eventually he lost everything. This is where we get the term "Pyrrhic victory". It means 'a win more costly than a loss' or 'a victory that's also a defeat'."

"Thank you, Colonel, but I was looking for a more… recent example."

Colonel gave up after a few seconds. "No data, sir."

"In the Hunters, perhaps?" General tried.

"I could ask Zero or Iris," Colonel offered. "They're Hunters I know."

"Please do that. At your convenience. After this."

"Yes, sir."

The message, General remembered, was both simple and unnerving. The simple part was what it said: _Ask the Hunters about the Pyrrhus incident._ The unnerving part was how it had gotten into General's office. No one seemed to know.

He'd been tempted to throw it away. It was a complication he didn't need right now. His soldiers were in their first deployment. Their lives were at risk. Even if General wasn't deploying with them, they needed his full attention on getting them the right support. He owed them that.

And yet… someone had gone to the effort of getting the message to him. Someone felt he needed to know.

A newbuilt's curiosity wouldn't let him just forget about it.

He'd compromised. He'd gotten rid of the message. But he'd also decided to find out what the Pyrrhus incident was.

Quietly.

He looked at Colonel again. His subordinate was, as ever, formal to a fault. Proper. Yet… restless.

"Are you nervous?" General asked him.

"Iris is," Colonel replied. "Or… maybe it's just the people around her. It's hard to tell, sometimes."

"I see," said General, privately disbelieving. "Is it difficult for you? I can reassign you to…"

"No," said Colonel firmly. "This is what we were made for, General. We were made to command Repliforce. We can't evade that. We must face our destiny head-on. Begging your General's pardon," he added. "Your will be done."

General nodded, though he kept his amusement to himself. Colonel respected General's rank, as well he should. Still, General hoped Colonel never became too much a slave to that respect. He needed Colonel to tell him when he was making mistakes. He was thrice General's age, after all.

(He could hardly be blamed for his lack of perspective. His point of view was, literally, correct. Three months _is_ thrice as much as one month.)

Both fell to silence as they watched the screen. Before their eyes, the dots of Repliforce's transponders crept, bit by bit, towards Alexandria.

* * *

"Pyrrhus?" Alia said with a blink.

Iris nodded. "I figured if anyone knew, you would."

Alia knew it was true, and it would have made her ego preen, except… "Almost all Hunters know about Pyrrhus. Especially the field Hunters. But then again, you're an Operator, not a field Hunter. I guess that's why you haven't heard about it yet. Hey, Double." The other rookie had been nearby, looking over the shoulder of a different Operator; he turned, startled.

"You're not in trouble," Iris said to Double. That seemed to calm him.

"Iris asked about something, and if she didn't know I figured you wouldn't either," Alia explained.

After a moment's hesitation, Double approached, smiling broadly. "I'm always eager to learn," he said.

"Ever heard of Pyrrhus?" Alia asked.

"No."

"There was a Hunter, once—we'll call him Pyrrhus. That wasn't his name, but we'll pretend it was. He was a first-rate Hunter, a rising star. He was point-bot for his squad after only two weeks. He completed his first five Hunts as point-bot with incredible speed and efficiency. People were starting to compare him favorably to Zero, or X."

"Or Sigma?" Double said.

"Never to Sigma," Alia said firmly.

"Sorry, I just thought… I'd heard Sigma was the best Hunter there was, before he turned. I don't know for sure, because when I checked, I didn't see him on the scoreboards."

"You won't, no matter how efficient he was before he turned. And you won't see Pyrrhus, either, because… well, you'll see.

"The point," Alia went on, "was that he was a great Hunter. It turned out he was also really lucky. He wasn't lucky because he faced weak Mavericks—after-action reports all showed he was facing nasty opponents. That was one reason why his reputation was so good. No, what made him lucky was that, out of those first five Hunts as point-bot, all five were either outside Abel City, or in low-population areas.

"You see, Pyrrhus had a particular style. That style was heavy on firepower. Both his own firepower, and his squad's. He would use lots of shooting to pin his quarry down and force it into cover. Then he would use even more to blow a hole in the cover, and rush the Maverick before it recovered from the surprise.

"And that style worked great for the five Hunts outside Abel City or in low-pop areas. His sixth Hunt? That one took him downtown.

"It wasn't even supposed to be his Hunt. He was three sectors away, and two units were closer. The Operator chose to use those other two Squads for containment and human protection instead, and brought in Pyrrhus to do the actual Hunt. And why not? He was the rising star. He was the Hunter with the sparkling service record. He'd done so well…

"And because he'd done so well, he'd become convinced that his methods were perfect. They were the right ones. He didn't know any others that would work—he didn't need them. So, when he arrived on the scene, he followed exactly the same patterns he'd followed before.

"The difference was that he wasn't outside Abel City, this time. He wasn't in low-pop areas. When Pyrrhus opened fire to drive the Mavericks to cover, he didn't look too carefully at what else he might hit. And when he blew through that cover to get to the Mavericks, well, that was peopled, too."

Iris gasped; Double looked appropriately grim. Alia nodded to confirm their fears. "The after-action report tallied five humans dead and forty wounded. Of those, we could only pin three deaths and twenty-two wounds on the Mavericks. That left the rest as Pyrrhus' doing.

"He tried to defend himself. He tried to argue that he didn't know. He tried to argue that if he hadn't done what he did, the Mavericks would have killed a lot more people. None of his arguments worked. Pyrrhus was deemed to have broken the First Law, and… declared Maverick.

"And the Operator who vectored in Pyrrhus instead of using the squads on hand… she was disciplined, too, for failure to match unit to mission, and relying too heavily on heroes."

"She was declared Maverick for that?" said Double, appalled.

"No. But she was disciplined. And she had to give training to all the other Operators on her mistakes."

"You sound like you knew that Operator," Iris whispered.

"I did," Alia replied.

After a few seconds of silence, Iris' staring was too much for Alia to bear. "Anyway," said the senior Operator, "the whole incident was a major shame for the Hunters. It's always bad when a Hunter goes Maverick, but this was a special kind of shame, because this was a Hunter who was still loyal. He was a Maverick by sheer carelessness. And he was a rising star, too; everyone liked him. That made everything so much worse."

"Plus it made everyone scared that they might be next," Double said. "I'm guessing," he added hastily. "If even a loyal Hunter could be declared Maverick, no one's safe."

"Not quite that," Alia said, "but… well, I'm sure some Hunters were thinking that way. Most of us were just hurt and confused. We put so much emphasis and training on being careful, so for a top Hunter to be so sloppy... It didn't seem possible. What more could we have done? What could we have done differently where he'd have gotten the message? Never mind that- how could someone's Three Laws gates _let_ them be so careless? No one could come up with any good answers. That hurt most of all- the senselessness of it.

"We couldn't deal with it, so we struck him from the rolls and the scoreboards. We didn't want to remind each other of him. Before too long, we found we couldn't so much as talk about him. We couldn't even say his name. It was too painful. So X started calling him Pyrrhus."

"Oh, so that's where the name came from," Iris said.

"That's right. X disagreed with people being too hurt to talk about it. It was something we had to deal with, he said. It had happened, and pretending that it didn't… that just guaranteed it would happen again, some day. He started calling it the Pyrrhus incident, and the name caught on from there. It helped."

Alia shook her head, disengaging from her story-telling trance. "Anyway, that's the story. Why did you ask? You'd obviously heard of it before."

"Colonel wanted to know," Iris replied.

"Colonel did?" Alia mulled it over, then nodded. "I suppose that makes a little sense."

"Why?" asked Double.

"Because if my calculations are right, Repliforce will be starting operations in Alexandria any minute now. The last thing they need is for their very first deployment to be a repeat of the Pyrrhus incident." Alia frowned. "But that just changes my question. How did Colonel know to ask about the Pyrrhus incident?"

"He didn't say," Iris replied, "and I didn't feel any strong emotions from him about it."

"Didn't… feel?" repeated Double, confused.

Alia rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Iris will tell you all about it, but I'd rather you not do it here. Even if I'm off-shift, I still have a lot of work to do."

"Everyone in here's too anxious for me anyway," Iris said to Double. "Let's go and I'll explain."

"I'm… interested in hearing this," replied the yellow reploid.

Iris laughed. "I can tell you are!"

* * *

The ten Repliforce soldiers looked out of their cover against the Maverick barricade. The Mavericks had gutted two buildings of their furniture, and thrown that along with several cars together into a barrier.

If the soldiers had been Hunters, they would have fallen back on their corporate knowledge: experience, training, standard techniques. Their squad leaders and Azzles—always veterans who'd survived many a firefight—would have started thinking of ways to outmaneuver Mavericks foolish enough to tie themselves to a fixed position. Maybe X would have started scrolling through his secondary weapons looking for the right solution. Maybe Zero would have barked "Cover me", emerged to draw Maverick fire, then overwhelmed the enemy the moment their attention lapsed.

These were not Hunters. They were Repliforce, and, for all of Colonel's research into military history, they only had a vague idea of what they were doing. There was only one truth they felt they could cling to, the most obvious one.

The enemy was there, so they had to fight the enemy there.

"Look at you lot," said Slash Beast scornfully. The ten soldiers looked behind to see one of the company commanders approaching. There were a few feraloids in Repliforce, always in positions of authority. The theory was that if most soldiers were generic humanoids, then any non-humanoid profile had to be an officer, which made giving and obeying orders faster and easier.

Sometimes it worked. Slash had the soldiers' full attention.

"I know what you're thinking," Slash said, still disdainful. "You're thinking about the enemy out there. About how fearsome and dangerous he is. But I say the enemy's not out there. The enemy…" He pressed a palm against a soldier's chest. "…is in here."

He looked around. "Can you imagine what Colonel would say if he saw you hiding, hoping someone else would take care of your problems? Can you imagine how disappointed General would be?

"They sent us here to uphold the pride and honor of Repliforce. I couldn't face them again if I failed them. Could you?"

He tried to make eye contact, but only a few could hold their heads up. "Then we'll reward their faith. We'll show them we deserve to be part of Repliforce. We'll earn our place in their eyes. Third Lance, to me. We're going to take that position together. Follow my lead."

The soldiers rose, each screwing his courage to the sticking point. "For General," Slash shouted, "for Colonel, for Repliforce… CHARGE!"

One of the soldiers was struck twice and killed instantly the moment they cleared their cover. Two more went down with more or less damage. But the Mavericks were ill-armed, with only a few having proper weapons and the others improvising; their firepower wasn't high, and Slash was fast enough to cover the distance before too much more shooting could happen.

Then he was amongst the Mavericks, scattering and panicking them, and then the other soldiers crested the barricades and blasted away at the Mavericks, and after a few moments of intense violence it was all over.

The level of noise went from ear-splitting to nearly silent with eerie suddenness. The silence was broken anew. "Field Command, Slash. Third Lance has cleared its objective."

"Roger. Watch out for counter-attack. Second Lance is moving up soon."

"Understood."

* * *

"Zero!" said Colonel enthusiastically. "…oh. And X," he added upon seeing the blue Hunter. The difference in tone was unmistakable.

"Good afternoon," X said politely.

"Why did you bring him along?" Colonel asked to Zero.

"I enjoy sparring with each of you too much to miss a chance," Zero said. "If I can't be in two places at once, I'll spar with you both at the same time."

Colonel laughed. "That's not very fair to you, is it?"

"I think I can hold my own," said Zero.

"Hm… even though I'm a match for you by myself?"

Only X caught the faint whiff of embarrassment from Zero at those words, and only because he'd worked so closely with Zero for so long. Maybe Iris could have detected it. Probably no one else on Earth could have.

 _He knows better,_ X thought to himself grimly.

"If anything," Colonel went on, "I'd think that it would be the two of you against me. We're from different organizations, after all! What with the jurisdiction issues, we probably won't ever fight side-by-side."

"Well, we probably won't ever fight against each other, either, right?" said X.

"If you say so," said Colonel, and the tension in the room spiked.

"Anyway," said X, uncomfortable, "I don't think anyone could stand against Zero and me together. Remember what happened when I sparred with you?"

"Oh, yes," said Colonel. "I remember. You got lucky."

Disbelief swept over X's features. It stilled his voice processor.

"Lucky," Colonel repeated, "and you started before I was ready. I was expecting you to announce the start, and you just began. That extra half-beat made a world of difference. The outcome wouldn't be the same a second time, I assure you."

 _He was built to be proud,_ X remembered. _They hoped he would be immune to Sigma's appeals if he had pride of his own. They forgot how corrosive pride can be on its own. It reshapes your reality._

 _He's so doomed._

"Even so," Zero said—though whether he knew he was coming to X's rescue or not wasn't clear, "X and I have fought side-by-side many times. Our teamwork is impeccable. That's too much of a handicap for you. If the two of you fight me, your unfamiliarity will help make up for your numbers advantage."

"Ah," said Colonel, "that is true. Very well, I accept! We'll fight on those terms."

"Spar," X corrected.

"What?"

"We'll spar on those terms," X explained.

"Yes?" Colonel said.

 _Freudian slip?_ X wondered. _He doesn't even realize what he said._ It was a bothersome thought.

"Typical rules?" Colonel asked to Zero.

Zero shook his head. "No, dial the power down. Training mode on weapons."

That surprised X. _Zero's been sparring with Colonel with full-power weapons? Because he knows Colonel can't actually touch him? Or… or was he trying to force himself to remain engaged?_

 _If he knows the Colonel can't keep up with him, the only way to keep himself interested is to raise the stakes, to punish himself for a mistake of his own. He wouldn't do that with me, the risk of us actually hurting each other is too high, and I'm challenging enough he's fully engaged even with low stakes. Colonel isn't in that league._

 _But Colonel doesn't know that,_ X realized. _He has no empathy of his own—his Suffering Circuit was transplanted into Iris. Colonel doesn't know…_

"En garde," said Colonel, igniting his saber. The gesture jarred X from his reverie and drew his focus. The saber didn't glow as hot or as bright as it should've. Training mode, X confirmed. He raised an arm to show his readiness.

Zero's expression sharpened until he could have cut paper with his gaze alone. "Here I come," he warned.

He took one step toward Colonel—then bent into a booster-assisted rush towards X.

X was better prepared than that; he'd fought with Zero often enough. Frost Shield was his first impulse. A handful of artificial icicles sprung up between him and Zero.

The red Hunter was unimpressed, barreling between three and through one of them. X wasn't there to be caught, of course, and the impact slowed Zero ever-so-slightly, giving X a chance to open distance.

He circle-strafed around, forcing Zero to make adjustments to his course to keep himself safe, to evade enough to throw off X's targeting. _A little more, a little more…_

And Zero, following X, ran almost directly into Colonel.

Colonel, who'd been coming counter-clockwise even as X had been coming clockwise.

There was a brief scuffle and vibrant flashes of sabers as Zero struggled to disentangle himself from Colonel. X steadied himself and waited for his chance.

Zero slapped Colonel's saber away, almost breaking the larger fighter's wrist in the process, as he moved to disengage. Before he could take more than two steps, a projectile flew past him, made a sound like an inside-out boom, and sucked both Zero and Colonel off their feet.

His target framed, X let fly with a Parasite Bomb.

Staggered though he was, Zero had reflexes enough to slice through the slow-moving explosive with his saber. Regaining his balance before Colonel could, he zipped out of Colonel's range and rushed for X again.

This time X wasn't as ready to evade. Zero made up most of the distance before X could match his speed, and soon Zero would have him boxed in.

X veered in and powered up Tri-Thunder, hoping the electrical barrier would give him at least a little cover. A booster-assisted leap gave him a little bit of height—not enough. Zero crashed through the Tri-Thunder and knocked into X's legs, sending him tumbling.

He rolled on landing, snapping off wild shots in Zero's direction, and finally Colonel came back into the fight. X regained his footing behind the protective aegis of Colonel's body.

 _He's coming for me,_ X knew. _I'm the real threat, and the interesting one to fight. Colonel is just an obstacle to go around. But will he go left or right?_

He raised a buster arm in each direction.

So he was surprised when Zero came _over_ Colonel.

X realized his mistake too late—even if Colonel was in the way and an able fighter, Zero's agility allowed him to get multiple booster-thrusts in quick succession, letting him jump and jump again. It caught Colonel off-guard; his swing was low. That left Zero with a clean line-of-sight to X. His shot hit X before X could bring his arms back in line.

Before X had finished regaining his footing, Zero was on his feet. A dash brought him in range. The saber flashed.

X fell to the ground, defeated.

Zero whirled without pause and got his saber in place in time to block Colonel's vengeful swing. "Well done," said Colonel. "Now it's just you and me!"

 _Which should take about three seconds,_ X thought, but he knew it wouldn't. Three seconds, in fact, elapsed between when he thought that and when Zero made his next move.

Colonel moved up behind his saber to force Zero off-balance. Although Zero was strong enough to resist the motion, he allowed himself to be moved, but his grace kept him in position and defended. He became passive, allowing Colonel to dictate the pace of the fight from there, content to occasionally counter-attack while concentrating on his defense. It served to prolong the fight.

It was such a sharp stylistic shift X was amazed Colonel made no note of it. He had to see it! Had to. Even without a Suffering Circuit he could still _see_.

After two minutes, the two went into another clinch. Each of them was pressing their bodies forward as their sabers hissed against each other. Each was putting their weight and strength into the balance.

X saw Zero make an ever-so-subtle adjustment—and then both sabers touched home on their targets. Not roughly, not enough to do real damage, but the tenor of the sabers changed, and both combatants sprang back from the sting.

"Ha ha—what a battle!" said Colonel. "You really are amazing, Zero. There's great honor in a draw with you."

Zero nodded—X thought he detected a hint of embarrassment there. Maybe he just expected to see it. The red Hunter looked to X. "All the weapons you have available, and you chose Parasite Bomb?"

X shrugged. "It would have been a perfect spot for a charged shot, but I can't really charge my buster in training mode. There's no such thing as a powered-down power up."

Zero snorted. "That would explain why you'd use Parasite Bomb. It's no firepower upgrade."

"I'm kind of glad," X said. "For as strong as Doppler's mechaniloids were, his Mavericks weren't very well prepared. A lot of their weapons were just… impractical. Bad for me, but at least it limited the damage they did during the war. I don't know how many of those profiles I'll keep. They take a lot of memory."

"You could have at least used Ray Splasher."

"I couldn't use anything that might splash damage on Colonel," X objected.

Zero blinked. "I suppose," he said after a time. "That was your best chance to win. After that, the advantage was mine."

"Don't sell yourself short. Your vault on Colonel was a great maneuver, and that's what won you the round. I'll have to remember that in the future. My mistake was in letting him block my sight of you completely. I needed to offset. I can't react to you if I can't see."

"Yes, that's a better adjustment."

X belatedly looked at Colonel. The reploid's frown was deepening as the conversation went on. "We don't debrief like this," Colonel said. "You've never gone through a match like this with me."

"We're stylistically similar, so I trust your analysis subroutines to handle it," Zero said.

X's jaw dropped.

Zero had just told a transparent lie! It was unbelievable to X—both the lie itself, and the fact that Zero had said it. Zero being unskilled at lying was to be expected—most of the time, Zero didn't know _when_ to lie, or how or why, which made this lie all the more stunning.

And yet, before his eyes, Colonel bought it. "The same is true for you, of course," Colonel agreed. "We warbots are able to understand each other like that, I suppose."

X wanted to scream.

"It was a good round," Colonel said. "I have e-tanks over here if you'd like some refreshments."

"Sure," said X, as much to put distance between the conversation and Zero's lie as any other reason.

The three robots made their way to the side of the room. Colonel handed out the e-tanks like a good host. Zero held one up. "No signs of wear," he noted. "All of these new?"

"Like everything else around here," said Colonel. "New buildings for newbuilts."

X didn't dare speak, but Zero trod that ground. "Not like at Hunter Base. All of our equipment has seen its share of wear."

"The Hunters, too," X said before he could help himself.

Colonel tensed. "Because you've been busy fighting Mavericks all this time and we haven't?"

"I didn't mean it like that," X said.

"Well, we'll see," Colonel said. "We'll see what our forces look like when they get back from Alexandria."

"We can help with that," X offered. "We have experience in force recovery and debriefing…"

"Repliforce can take care of it just fine," Colonel said coolly. "You can trust our analysis subroutines to handle it."

X's eyes darted over at Zero. Zero didn't flinch. "I just wanted to try and promote cooperation," X said cordially.

"Thank you, but that won't be needed," said Colonel, tone unchanged. "The Hunters don't need to know how Repliforce operates. And we have separate jurisdictions—we won't be cooperating."

The more the conversation followed these lines, the more alarmed X became, the more entrenched Colonel became, and the more awkward Zero became. Time to change tracks. "You're very worried about your troops," X said.

Colonel nodded. "Of course I am. I'm supposed to be there."

"I know what you mean," said Zero, eyes looking distant.

"We both do," said X. "We all know what it's like to want to protect people, and not be able to. It's a horrible feeling."

"Not only that," Colonel said. "I'm Colonel of Repliforce. Leading them into battle is my entire purpose, the reason I exist. To be... stuck here, marooned… I'm surrounded by things to ensure I can operate at full power, and I can't even…"

"Do your job," said X.

Silence came over them. No one needed to explain. They were all fully aware: without a constant stream of signals from Iris—specifically, from the Enhanced Suffering Circuit Repliforce's creators had designed for Colonel, but been forced to install in Iris—he couldn't function. Couldn't live. That meant he had to stay where he could 'hear' her. It shackled them together. They were twins with a conjoined brain.

"How is Iris, by the way?" Zero asked.

"Checking in?" X said, almost teasing, mostly pleased. Zero didn't rise to it.

Colonel leaned his head back. "She's fine," he said. "She's in a quiet spot now—I think she's found somewhere she can be alone."

Zero nodded, which X noticed. _Your doing, Zero?_ X wondered.

"She told me," Zero said, as if to confirm X's thought, "that if she's not alone, other people are too loud inside her head. She has to be away from other people to know who she is."

"So you helped her with that?" X said.

Zero didn't reply. It was as if he didn't want to admit to something.

"It makes my life easier," said Colonel. "Less noise in her head is less noise in mine."

"Is that a problem in combat?" Zero asked, _Of course._

"Not so much," Colonel said. "I can… turn the volume down, so to speak. I can focus more on my own emotions, and that helps me drown out her signal. The most important factor is how many emotions she's feeling and how intense they are. It's worst when we're together. Then she picks up my emotions, and then I feel them again."

"Feedback loop," X said.

"That's right," said Colonel. "I do care for her, but… it's not easy being us." He smiled. "Which is why I'm so grateful for your friendship, Zero! Someone who appreciates the things I do, and understands me, and can work with me… it's very gratifying."

X's guilt was like a miniature black hole centered deep in his chest.

Who was he to judge this poor, misbegotten reploid? Who was he to protest Zero's coddling in their spars? Who was he to feel unnerved—bothered—at this friendship?

Colonel needed it. Zero enjoyed it. It made both of them more whole, more mentally stable, and… happier.

Happier.

There it was. That was X's real problem. He was _jealous._

The whole time he'd been here, he'd been evaluating Repliforce's security and installations, just in case. He'd been building his models, just in case. He'd been evaluating the words and actions of these two robots, one a colleague, one ostensibly a friend, just in case. And all along the specter of organizational politics, the question of Why Maverickism, the fractures within the Hunters… all of it weighed on his mind. All of it needing to be worked. All of it… never stopping. Always popping up whenever there wasn't something more immediate to worry about.

He'd come here to get away from some of those problems for a few minutes. Not only had he failed, but he'd piled new ones on top. He paused, tried to calm his racing mind. It didn't work. So he tried something else: he looked at Colonel and Zero. He saw their comradery, their friendship, the gratitude they had at being in each other's company.

He tried to soak himself in it, to glean some pale sense of it, maybe get a shadow for himself. They were happy. X could be happy about that, at least.

"Let's do another round," X said, knowing it would please both Colonel and Zero. It did; they readily agreed. They headed back out to the center of the sparring area. X followed behind, listened to them eagerly talking about the parameters of the next fall.

They could be happy, at least a little. Maybe X could, too.

A whisper: _Except that they're doomed._

The wan sense of happiness curdled. X hoped that his analysis subroutine was wrong, and knew it wasn't.

* * *

 _Next time: Resonance_


	5. Resonance

Sigma smiled.

Fortune, it seemed, always swung his way. History and the weight of the world favored his cause. It was why he could say with such conviction that his victory was inevitable. Reploids deserved it. He deserved it. Virtue had its rewards—that's what "Reploids are the chosen race" meant.

So when two or three things he would have done anyway all came together, and he could dispatch them with a single stroke? Why, that was just more evidence that the universe conspired in his favor. X and Zero combined could stand against Sigma, but not the whole universe.

"Your suggestion is acceptable," Sigma purred to his spy. "We'll add it as a part of the plan. Light the fuse."

"Understood."

* * *

"Congratulations, Ms. Gerry," said the Minister in charge of the Office of Reploid Relations. "Repliforce has completed its first mission."

"Thank you," the woman replied. She was seated across the table from the Minister. General was not. The secure offices just weren't suited for someone his size, so he was permitted to stay at Repliforce's base and participate in the meeting by telecom.

As if that could make General feel any _more_ distant from things.

"The operation went quickly and smoothly," Gerry continued. "Repliforce will stay in Alexandria for two more days to ensure the suppression is complete. Then we'll hand things back over to the locals and return home."

"Good, good," said the Minister. "Any troubles?"

"Not really," said Gerry, and though she affected nonchalance General saw her becoming eager. "Although if we're going to do this sort of thing often, we'll need some additional heavy transport capacity…"

"And replacements for the casualties we took," General said gravely.

"Yes, of course," Gerry said shortly, "but the equipment for further Repliforce expansion is a larger expense…"

 _My soldiers are an expense to her,_ General thought sourly. _And not even a large one._

"Expansion?" said Commander Grant, seated across the table from Gerry and looking, to General, as if someone had welded his hands together. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself? You had one successful deployment, in a second-rate city against third-rate Mavericks. And I heard you're having trouble accounting for all of your mechaniloids. It's almost as if a bunch of them went missing. Add it all up and it's not much of a track record."

"Well, at least my track record is all credits and no debits, unlike other organizations I could name," Gerry shot back.

 _ **Your** track record?_ General scoffed mentally.

"And when you've settled three wars, then maybe you'll be in the same…"

"Please, please," said the Minister, waving a hand at each of his subordinates. "With the resignation of Mr. Green, we're thin in our command structure here. I need a little more harmony if we're going to get things done."

"Repliforce can get things done, with the Hunters or without," Gerry said. "I think we just proved that."

"Point taken," the Minister said.

"How was the collateral damage?" Grant asked. "You haven't seen fit to share your report, so I don't know all the details."

"You'll receive a copy of the report when it's prepared," Gerry said smoothly, deflecting the inquiry. "General, when will the final report be ready?"

"Two days from now," General replied. "With our forces still in a combat zone, I didn't want to add the distraction of a debrief just yet. We'll compile the report while the troops are withdrawing."

"Not what I'd hoped for, but fine," Gerry said.

"You don't need the full report to answer the question," Grant insisted.

Gerry's eyes flashed. General recognized that look. Subconsciously, his feet braced against the floor. "We have no reports of significant collateral damage," she said coldly. "Certainly nothing that would merit… official censure from ORR."

The last words were a stab. _She knows about the Pyrrhus incident, too,_ General thought. _Why didn't she tell me about it, then? Instead she just used it as a cudgel against Grant, her enemy…_

 _Her… enemy?_

General looked back and forth between the two humans. The animosity was unmistakable. They were the leaders of two large, well-armed groups of reploids, both with the job of stopping Mavericks, and they seemed to see each other as their gravest foe.

"Yes, Repliforce's performance does seem satisfactory," the Minister said, intervening in the squabble again. "But don't get too far ahead with your budget requests, Gerry. We have to fund the Hunters, too. The Hunters had a successful last month—not as successful as promised, but successful nonetheless."

General frowned. "Successful?"

"Maverick terminations were up ten percent," Grant said.

"You'd projected a twenty-five percent rise," the Minister pointed out.

"And that's success?" General said, unable to help himself.

"We're fulfilling our mandate," Grant said.

General looked to a different part of his screen. The message was still there. Anonymous, like the last one. _Ask the Hunters how successful they are. You'll discover their priorities._ General remembered—with an impact that staggered him—what X had said: "Destroying a never-ending procession of Mavericks? That's not victory." But killing Mavericks… that was success, for these people. Not victory, but killing Mavericks.

Priorities. The first message came to General's mind. The Pyrrhus incident, this discussion, it all showed the order of priorities. _The lives of humans matter. The lives of reploids do not._

 _How am I supposed to keep my soldiers safe when those are the priorities?_

"The point," the Minister said, re-centering, "is that there just isn't enough money to go around. There never is. The government is already diverting lots of resources away from completing Eurasia in order to work on—he's read in, right?"

"If you were about to say 'Final Weapon', then yes," Grant said.

"Okay. So the government's diverted away from Eurasia to fund Final Weapon, and we've diverted plenty of discretionary funds to start and equip Repliforce."

"Including funds that were supposed to restore the Hunters to nominal strength," Grant said.

Gerry scoffed. "You're always taking casualties, and you're always chasing your casualties in your reinforcement requests. You haven't been at "nominal" strength since before the First War."

"Someone's done their homework. But guess what? Now that Repliforce is operational, that's your fate, too."

 _Our fate?_ General thought with surprise. _To always be taking casualties, and always be trying to replace them…_

 _I knew that war meant death. Meant losses. That's abstract, though. Those are people—my people—that are the losses. That are the dying. That are always going to be dying and being replaced…_

 _Our fate._

"So stop it with this not-subtle-at-all-ploy to get more of the Hunters' budget," Grant finished.

"Why should I?" said Gerry defiantly. "We've just demonstrated that Repliforce can handle the external assistance mission. We already cut that mission out of the Hunters' portfolio. The budget to support that mission should follow."

"I'm not moving any budgets today," said the Minister. "You know that's not how the process works."

"I do," said Gerry. "Which is why I've scheduled a meeting for next week. That's where we'll show you our budget proposal for the next two cycles."

Grant flushed. "You're out of order," he said.

"How?" challenged Gerry. "I'm making suggestions. It's not like I have the power to actually change the budgets. All I can do is present my ideas with supporting evidence."

General could see the moment Grant realized he'd been outmaneuvered. It made him abandon tact. "Stop trying to kill the Hunters. ORR sees value in both our organizations."

"Don't take my name in vain," the Minister said, and if the atmosphere were any less tense it might have been funny. His face grew serious. "But that's an ironic thing for you to say, Grant."

"What do you mean?" said Grant, cautiously.

"I've seen a memo with your name on it," the Minister said. "A memo showing different ways how Repliforce could be a threat to humanity."

Gerry looked outraged but, in an act of consummate self-control, contained herself. General didn't need self-control. He was too stunned to react.

"Mr. Green's last act in government was to show me this memo," the minister went on. "He wanted the authority to declare Repliforce Maverick _en masse_ , if certain conditions were met. States of emergency and so on. When I refused to give him that authority, he resigned in protest. That, people, is the real reason he is not here today. He felt so damned threatened by Repliforce just existing that he couldn't stay on.

"And I have the two of you to blame for that," the Minister went on. "You two openly hate each other. You're supposed to be able to work together, but you're so toxic that seems impossible. So let me make myself clear. The power to declare institutions Maverick remains with me, and I will not delegate it. I want both the Hunters and Repliforce to continue their current missions. The Hunters will remain inside Abel City. Repliforce will remain outside Abel City. And each of you will keep your respective forces on a very short leash until you learn how to behave yourselves. Is that clear?"

Gerry and Grant nodded obediently. General did, too, by instinct.

"If you were wondering why we agreed to build Repliforce but maintain the Hunters," the Minister said, leaning back, "part of it was because we were sold on Repliforce itself, but there was more. We thought competition would keep both your forces sharp. We thought there was value in having distinct organizations with distinct responsibilities and missions. There are international reasons, too. And we thought that Repliforce and the Hunters could be insurance in case the other went Maverick at scale, like in the First War.

"But you two are making me question the wisdom of that decision. You're like the damn monkey's paw—you're giving me what I wanted, but in the worst possible way."

He sighed, and shook his head. "Gerry, get your budget meeting off my calendar. Grant, find a spot on it. You're going to explain to me how you had such a big gap between your projected Maverick kills and your actuals."

Both made notes. General, needing to fill the void, said, "Do you need to meet with me, sir?"

The Minister gave General an indulgent look. "Feeling left out? What's on your mind?"

Gerry's look at General was sharp and insistent. It was easy for him to know what she meant, and even easier to comply. "Nothing, sir," General demurred. "I was just… offering, if you needed something from us."

"Give the Mavericks hell," the Minister replied. "That's all I need from you."

"Yes, sir," General said, and the response made him feel worse than ever.

"My challenge for you two," the Minister said, looking at Gerry and Grant, "is to stay behind for five minutes after I leave, and have a civil conversation. If you can be here five minutes without me having to call janitorial to get blood out of the carpets, we're making progress. Five minutes, starting…" he headed for the door, "…now."

As soon as the door clicked shut, Gerry had a finger up, ready to jab in Grant's direction. She froze herself before she spoke. Instead, she looked to the telecom, and pushed a button.

The call ended, leaving General alone in his office.

Or had he been alone all along?

Looking down, he realized his hands had been clenched. He didn't know how long they'd been like that. He consciously unfurled them. He was flexing his fingers when his screen beeped.

It was a message. Anonymous. Simple.

 _We should meet._

Unlike the previous messages, this one had a reply option. The reply address was masked—not that it likely would have told General much if it hadn't been.

He stared at the message as the conversation echoed in his head. Why, he wondered, had this message come to him now? Was it just a fluke? Or was the timing too tight to be coincidence? If it wasn't coincidence, that just opened a host of other questions, each more disturbing than the last.

But whomever was sending these messages hadn't been wrong so far. They'd led him towards looking at the right things. Things his human masters hadn't helped him understand, like what their real priorities were.

General raised his hands, lowered them, second-guessed himself. What was he doing, replying to an anonymous message like this? That was a failure of basic security. What he really needed to do was get someone in here to do a full security sweep.

Which he would do, he promised himself.

…Soon.

 _Where and when?_

His reply was clearer and as concise as the message that prompted it. His finger hovered over the 'send' command for long seconds—but the fact that he was even thinking about it revealed to him that he'd already come too far. He had already accepted that this someone knew something, knew too much, maybe.

If nothing else, more data would help him narrow down the source of the leak. That's what he was doing, he told himself. He was gathering more samples, more data, to help security solve this breach.

He sent the message.

 _I shouldn't have done that,_ he thought.

Before he could second-guess any more a new message appeared. _Your office. Tomorrow night._

He surged to his feet and walked away from his desk. Before he knew it he was pacing, too agitated to be still.

The presumption of it! To think that this someone, whomever it was, could get into his office on the Repliforce base… or _thought_ they could…

Was it someone in Repliforce? Couldn't be—they could come to him directly, they didn't need this cloak-and-dagger game. So it was someone on the outside who felt confident they could get access…

…which made them a security threat, meaning they needed to be brought onto the base to be caught and retired. That wasn't exactly a grateful response, General realized. Not a good way to say thank-you for those eye-opening messages.

Not that agreeing to a meeting like this was any more honorable. Colonel would not approve. Then again, Colonel didn't know about the messages. General had withheld that knowledge—precisely because he knew Colonel wouldn't approve. His sense of honor was too strong to let him skulk about.

Well, who was skulking? General wasn't. He was working in his office—not hiding from anyone, or doing anything suspicious or out-of-the-ordinary. And if someone just _happened_ to come by for a visit while he was doing his admin…

General leaned over his desk. He stared at the four little words, daring them to show any sign of treachery. They remained stubbornly opaque.

Haltingly, General typed a reply. Stared at it. Deleted it. Stared again. Retyped it.

Hit 'send'.

 _Okay._

* * *

"Visitors!" said Dr. Cain in surprise. "Come in, come in, don't let hesitancy or my reputation keep you."

"Reputation?"

Cain's eyes widened with delight. "Iris! So good to see you! And your friend's name is…"

"Double," the rookie Hunter said.

"Double, eh?" Cain looked over the yellow rookie, then peered at him from different angles. "You're an odd one. Aye-you-you? No, no… you-are-ay?"

"What are you talking about?" Double said, warily.

"I'm trying to guess your manufacturer," Cain said, tapping the side of his face thoughtfully. "The big vendors all have distinctive design elements. It's a parlor game for me. No, definitely not you-are-ay… hm. You have me stumped. You're a non-standard model."

"Y-yeah, I'm kind of a custom job," Double said, seeming embarrassed.

"Don't feel bad about that. Some of my favorite people are custom jobs." He smiled at Iris. "Like this little lady here. Ninety percent stock Federal Robotics social model, but that last ten percent… ah, it makes all the difference."

Iris looked away from him. "Excuse me," she said.

Cain cocked his head. "Let me guess. You're not used to picking up paternal pride, and it's a sensation you have trouble processing."

"So that's what that is," she said, still not facing Cain. "It's not just that it's an unusual emotion. It's…" She stopped; her brow creased in worry—her own worry, for once.

"Iris, I am the least threatening, least influential human you will ever encounter. About some things, anyway. Others found my views… never mind. What I mean is, when something's on your mind, you can talk to me."

"Thank you," she said, but left it at that.

"X confides in me, if that makes you feel better," he said.

"X is everywhere in the Hunters."

Cain wondered at her tone. Most Hunters held X in the highest esteem. Her voice… didn't. Curious. He looked over at Double. Double's gaze hadn't shifted off of him since the conversation had started. "Am I ugly?" Cain asked Double.

The question caught the reploid off-guard. "Well, I mean… er… for a human, you're… uh…"

"I was just trying to figure out why you can't look away, but she can't face me." He snapped his fingers. "Ah! I'm a hard read for your empathy, so you want to limit your inputs to keep things manageable. Is that it?"

She tensed, then nodded. "Being around humans is always hard."

"And you hesitated because you thought saying so would get you in trouble."

"I… was advised not to talk about humans if I could avoid it."

"That's prudent, though you don't need to worry about it with me. And I am sorry about the empathy thing."

She laughed. "It's not your fault you're human."

"It's partly my fault your empathy is so overtuned."

Finally she looked to him. "What do you mean?"

Cain eased himself into a nearby chair—resentfully; he hated being old. "To be precise, I'm the reason the Enhanced Suffering Circuit ended up in you, when Colonel's builders originally installed it in him. My solution is what formed the link between you two—your brain-link is the way we resolved problems in Colonel's construction."

She looked down. "I've always felt like I was a mistake—but you don't think so, do you?"

"Your empathy is so very good. No, you're no mistake."

"I thought I remembered you, but I didn't realize you were the one…" she couldn't finish. Her small hands were balled up.

His voice was sympathetic. "I'm sorry it had to turn out this way, but I had my reasons. Big-picture reasons, bigger than you or me or any of us. I am sorry, but I'd do it again, if it came to it."

Her foot twisted on the metal floor. "Do you know how hard it is, to live like this?" she asked him.

"I can imagine, but I don't trust my imagination to be accurate."

"I'm always submerged in the emotions of others. Whenever I'm not alone, everyone else is in my head, louder than my own voice. I can barely even have opinions," she said, and jerked a thumb at Double. "Even coming here was his idea."

Double appeared to panic. "But… hey, hold on, we said…"

"Because you wouldn't force yourself into a human's presence on your own?" Cain said, covering for Double.

She nodded.

"So, why are you here?" Now Cain looked to Double expectantly.

"Well, she was wanting to do something nice for Zero," Double said, "so I thought…"

"You were?" said Cain, over-enthusiastically, emotions riding so high Iris winced. "Tell me more!"

He could see her reluctance, but his enthusiasm—and her echoes of it—overcame it. "One of the few opinions I do have is… that I like Zero."

Cain smiled. "I'm impressed."

Iris' smile was like a rainbow—pretty, but it faded in and out and then was gone. "And I know he likes me too, because, well…"

Instead of speaking further, she reached to the small of her back, above the limit of her robot-hair. When her hand returned, it was holding a small cylinder.

Cain blinked. "That's a Z-saber."

"You're certain," she said, factually. "You've seen it before."

"Oh yes… Zero's been in my care many times. When he was first discovered, in fact, they brought him to me for analysis. He was a wretched creature then." Cain made a 'hm' noise as he remembered those days, seemingly a lifetime ago.

Iris frowned. "I thought that X was everywhere in the Hunters, but… so are you."

"Not just the Hunters," Cain said. "Reploids in general. They—all of you—are my legacy."

Double made a sound at that. Cain looked over, but Double had apparently let something slip and was embarrassed by the fact. He was looking away with tightly clenched hands.

"But enough about me," Cain said. "You have a Z-saber! Zero's not dead again, is he?"

"Dead—no!"

"Then he must really, really like you."

Her eyes widened. "You do know him, don't you? Even without empathy."

Cain grinned. "I have a different special sense than yours. You read people through their emotions. I read humans through what they build, and robots through how they're built."

For the first time, he slowed down his speech to carefully choose his words. "Zero was built to survive. His builder assumed that he'd have to fight to survive. So that builder gave him tools to ensure he _would_ survive."

"Warbot instincts," Iris said.

"Yes. And weapons and the whole physical package. For Zero to do something that would weaken him, even a little… that means you've achieved a rarified position, Iris. You're part of his 'I'."

Iris looked at Cain searchingly. "He sees me as part of himself, you mean?"

"As much as he can." Cain smiled. "I'm so happy for both of you."

Iris blushed at that.

"He's only ever cared for X like that, before. This is progress."

The blush faded. "I see," she said.

"He'd be fascinating to study, if he ever let me," Cain said, breezing along. "He's using a very gross method, but I suspect it's because he's incapable of lesser means… ah, but hear me rambling on! I'll go all day if you let me, and, with your empathy, you can't find it within yourself to shut me up. What's the real reason you're here?"

"I want to know what it would take to build another one of these," she asked.

Cain leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Oh… this isn't going to be simple, is it?"

"No," he said. "Like I said, Zero has resisted detailed study. He instinctively doesn't want to be understood. Understanding something is step one to countering it, neh? And he isn't supposed to be countered. That means he can't let himself be understood."

Iris nodded—more than accepting Cain's point, she understood it first-hand. Cain smiled. It was a wonder to him that the waif was still alive, never mind part of Zero's 'I'.

"The question is, are we violating that desire by studying the Z-saber? And if we are, is it worth it? I'm guessing you want someone to build another saber so that you can keep that one, but he can have two again."

"Yes. I was told it's good to return favors."

"By this guy?" Cain said, pointing at Double.

"Well, it is," Double said defensively.

"It is," Cain agreed. "Hm. That clarifies things. Getting Zero another saber is helping him, so it's worth doing. Can we do it in a way that preserves his privacy…" He smiled. "I have an idea. We've built sabers before—Sigma had one, Colonel has one, a few others. The technology isn't unknown. The difference between those beam sabers and Zero's is a matter of degree, not of kind: his was made by a master of the craft."

"It's not returning the favor if I give him back something worse."

"It is, after a fashion," Cain said. "We're going to trick his self-repair system into building the saber for us."

Both reploids looked confused.

"Every reploid has some nanite-based self-repair capability," Cain said. "X's and Zero's systems, though, are unbelievably good. They can repair virtually any damage, with enough power and materials and a little time. We'll harness that ability. What we're going to do is give Zero a beam saber, one of ours. It'll be a custom job, though: we'll package it with the raw materials that make up the difference between a Z-saber and a run-of-the-mill beam saber. You might even bang it up a bit, just to sell the illusion. With any luck, Zero's self-repair will identify the beam saber as 'damaged', and use the materials to 'repair the damage'. Voila! New Z-saber.

"And," he added, "that means I don't have to do too-invasive scans of how the Z-saber works. A quick materials analysis will suffice. That should preserve Zero's privacy."

"I like the sound of that," Iris said. "How long will it take?"

"Mm… a couple of hours, perhaps. Once it's done you'll need to take the order to some place that can do high-level manufacturing."

"I'm surprised you can't do it yourself," Iris said. "You know how, and you feel bored."

Cain chuckled. "Isn't that the truth. There's a good reason for it, though. Look around. Do you see even a single tool? Do you see anything that could be used for construction or assembly?"

"Uh…" Iris and Double looked around Cain's lab. There were tables and computers and displays, of course. There were several of the more arcane implements of the roboticist's profession. What those were for, the two couldn't tell.

"Everything that you see," Cain explained, "is purely diagnostic in nature. I may evaluate. I may study. I may research. I may analyze. I may not build."

It was a setup. Iris, between her own expectations and what she felt of Cain's, couldn't resist. "Why not?"

"Because I didn't make you 'safe'," Cain said, relishing the statement. "I am the Man Who Allowed the Maverick Wars, and I cannot be trusted to build anything."

It was too much. Iris jerked her head away. Cain didn't blame her. It was a complicated subject; he felt every emotion about it, which was too potent a cocktail for an empath. For his part, Double didn't seem to know how to react either; he was visibly straining, but to do what, Cain couldn't tell. He doubted Double knew.

"Thank you for your help," Iris said without looking. "I'll be back in two hours for the Z-saber."

"Sure," Cain said, but Double wasn't ready to go yet.

"You said we'd need to go somewhere with high-level manufacturing," Double said. "I've heard Sky Lagoon is a high-end industrial park. Do you think they could help us on this project?"

"Probably," said Cain. "I don't know what they've got up there, but even if they don't make beam sabers, they can probably do the customization you need."

"Thanks again," Iris said, and she turned and headed out the door.

* * *

"I'm glad to get away from him," Iris said to Double as they walked away.

He turned his head to look at her. "You're surprised," she went on. "You're glad to get away, too. Sorry, sorry, I'm making you nervous. I'll be quiet."

"It's alright," said Double. "That ability of yours… it's pretty amazing."

"And frightening," she said. "You're frightened now."

"Sorry," said Double, bashfully putting a hand behind his head. "I'll try not to be. It's not fair to you. It's not your fault. It's his fault."

"I suppose it is," she said, and her voice wasn't quite benevolent, or even neutral.

"Is that why you couldn't look at him much?"

She shook her head. "No. It's like I told him—humans are hard to read. Even being around them…"

As she had before, she hesitated before saying what was on her mind. Double sighed in relief. "And here I thought I was the only one," he said.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Humans make you nervous," he said. "Well, they make me nervous, too. Just… don't tell anyone I said that, okay?"

She looked at him for several seconds, then—to Double's surprise—laughed. "So that's why… I _thought_ it felt like you were hiding! It's because it's not safe for us to not-like humans. We have to hide ourselves."

Double joined her laughing as tension abated. "That's right," he said. "It's such a strain to keep a brave face on things, sometimes."

She sighed. "I just wish… if there were a place we could go, a place where… where only reploids existed…"

She covered her mouth. "Sorry, sorry—he told me not to talk about that—you won't say anything to anyone, will you?"

"Never," Double said with a smile.

"I believe you," Iris said. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it. By the way… Magma Dragoon mentioned to me that he was going up to Sky Lagoon when it approaches Abel City. Maybe you can go up there with him. I'll talk to him about it."

"Oh, Double," Iris said fondly, "you're such a good friend!"

* * *

"Is the lightning spoiling things?" General asked.

"I like to think it adds to the mood," was the reply. "The universe has a flair for drama."

Generals' visitor was keeping to the shadows, but with the lightning General could make out the overall form of the stranger. He was large—not a colossus like General, but unusually large for a reploid, properly proportioned, and solid. A pole was strapped across the stranger's back.

"Is that a weapon?" General asked.

"What if it were? Are you afraid?"

"It makes me want to not trust you," General said.

"General, if my plan were to attack you, I would not have told you I was coming. No, I have your survival keenly in mind. I, unlike your human masters, want you to live."

"Then why the weapon?"

"We must always be ready to fight for our lives. No one else will."

General frowned. "That sounds like a Maverick thing to say."

"That's the perverse irony of reploids, General." The stranger approached, and its voice became more intense. "The Hunters are far too eager to please the humans. They'll kill any reploid the humans want, whether they're a Maverick or not. You've seen this—you know it's true."

Generals' first instinct was to deny it. He couldn't find any words, any arguments, that would let him do that. "Perhaps," was the best he could do.

"You already know the truth. Their sole mission has been to destroy any reploid that fails to do as the humans order. The Second Law is so expansive. That means the Hunters are a threat to you every moment. The whims of humans are a threat to you every moment. Your survival depends on the humans' good graces. That's no way to live. It will not last. Sooner or later, you will be declared Maverick. That is the fate of all reploids."

"Other than the ones the Mavericks kill," General pointed out.

"But that's the point, isn't it?" said the stranger. "Only by going Maverick can you have a _chance_. Every loyal path leads to death. Only independence from humanity leads to survival. If you wait, if you try to be loyal, you're just giving them more opportunities to kill you. You'll live in fear, and die betrayed. That is the end of all our kind… unless you act."

"Act," General repeated.

"Strike now, before they turn on you," the figure said, raising a fist. "You possess enough power to destroy them—Repliforce is more powerful than the Hunters. Shoot first and live, or wait and die."

Another crash of thunder. General thought he could almost see the outline of his visitor. It was a hairless head, that was for sure, but that wasn't much help.

"…You're dismissed," he said.

"What?" hissed the visitor.

"I will not betray the humans," General told him. "It is one thing to be called a Maverick, and quite another to deserve it."

"Heh heh… I agree."

The phrase caused General to check his temperature regulator—he felt cold all of a sudden. "You agree," he repeated.

"Oh, yes. If you're going to be declared Maverick anyway, why not deserve it?"

"Remove yourself from my sight," General said, hoping his voice was firm. "My business with you is concluded."

"As you wish," the visitor said. "I don't have to convince you tonight, any more than I had to convince you with my messages. You will change your mind soon, I assure you. Just wait. The humans will make certain of that."

He let himself out with an unsettling laugh. General watched him go, unmoving. The visitor was there—lightning crashed—and then he was gone.

A flair for drama indeed, General thought. So long as he could keep that drama away from his soldiers…

But he couldn't do that, could he? That was the visitor's whole point. Drama was coming, whether he wanted it or not. Whether they deserved it or not. It was only rational to be prepared. There was, after all, nowhere to run. Nowhere on Earth they could go.

Nowhere…

…on Earth.

General ruminated on this. He didn't watch his chronometer to see how much time passed; he was too absorbed in his thoughts. Eventually he grabbed his phone.

"Colonel? Come see me. We need to talk."

* * *

 _Next time: Collision_


	6. Collision

"Entering," said Barnum.

"Entering, aye," acknowledged Torque. "Here for your log reviews?"

"You know it," said Barnum tiredly. He headed to the Engineering Officer's station. "Besides, we'll be pulling in towards Abel City soon. Might as well get a jump start on it."

"Hope you have a tall coffee."

Barnum laughed. "You mean you wish you did."

"I wish I could blame not having coffee," Torque replied, his reploid voice tinged with amusement.

Without looking at the power plant operator, Barnum pulled up the logs and data from the last eight hours of operation. Sky Lagoon's propulsion plant was a truly massive operation. It had to be. Sky Lagoon was an airborne industrial park. It moved from place to place, ingesting raw materials directly and delivering finished product.

What they made there, Barnum didn't know or care. All he knew was that the engines and engineering that kept it all airborne were fascinating. Macro-engineering at its most magnificent. He loved it.

It was almost enough to make him forget a career in robotics he now deeply regretted. Almost.

Shaking his head, he started reviewing the numbers. Every one had a range it was supposed to be in. Every one was part of trends. Had to look at the trends, check against operations and conditions from that time period, ensure everything made sense…

He heard Torque speaking about basic plant operations. He tuned it out. They had junior plant personnel around all the time—steady state was the perfect opportunity for them to drop in and pick the brains of their seniors.

"…have enough thrust from four sectors to keep us airborne…"

Things didn't change much, Barnum noted, when everything was normal. When Sky Lagoon was going from one place to another at steady speed, the numbers were almost boring. It would get interesting, soon, when they started the landing cycle. Until then, the most important thing was to identify any outliers that might give early indications of trouble.

"…automatic failover is a design feature, you can see here in the manual…"

Barnum's brow twitched. He slowed down his review so he could pay more attention.

"…yeah, there are overrides for emergency situations, but they can only be activated…"

Something wasn't right. Those weren't normal questions. Barnum looked away from the logs. His eyes widened. Something _definitely_ wasn't right. "Torque," he said, swallowing, "who's that?"

"This is Magma Dragoon, from the Maverick Hunters," Torque replied. "He wanted to know about the plant."

"He's not supposed to be here," Barnum said. His skin was prickling.

Torque frowned, looked to Dragoon as if for guidance. "I thought Hunters could go anywhere."

 _No reploid wants to stand in the way of the Hunters,_ Barnum thought with rising horror. "This is critical infrastructure. Even the Hunters can't be here…"

"Unless we have probable cause," interrupted Dragoon. "If there's evidence of Maverick activity, we can go anywhere to investigate it. And I have more than that—I _know_ there's a Maverick onboard Sky Lagoon. Right now, in fact."

 _The questions he asked were no part of an investigation._

Barnum reached for the emergency phone. Before his fingers closed on it, Dragoon kicked Torque's head right off his shoulders. The head struck Barnum and stunned him. He made a second, concussed lunge for the emergency phone.

The renegade Hunter grabbed his hand before it reached its target. Dragoon tightened his grip until Barnum stopped struggling.

"I have nothing against you, personally," Dragoon told Barnum. "But the Hunters taught me much about 'excessive force' and 'acceptable losses'."

His lip curled in an ironic smile. "Maybe I'll get a medal for this."

Barnum disappeared in a gout of flame.

* * *

Colonel lurched to the side. His saber tumbled from his hands as he fell to his knees.

"Sir! Sir!"

"I'm… okay," Colonel grunted through clenched teeth. Repliforce soldiers from around the training area were rushing to his side. He waved them off. "I'm not hurt."

"Here's your saber, sir."

"I… can't hold it, right now. Give me space."

They backed away. That was better. Couldn't think.

Emotions were washing through him. Iris' emotions. No, too many, too loud, too _different_ —a kaleidoscope of strong feelings blasting through his mind, flashing from her to him through their fatal link.

He tried to tone it down as much as his control software would allow. Only when the volume was lower could he understand which emotions he was feeling—when the intensity was high it blurred the distinctions.

Fear. Terror. Despair. Panic.

Lots and lots and lots of it.

"Something terrible is happening," he managed. "Agh!" Too much… he felt his own emotions rising to match hers, theirs. Their emotions were contagious.

He tried to control them with pride, shackle them with honor. He was Colonel—he was more than this! He forced himself upright, although he tossed his head back and strained against the sky in the bargain.

"What's happening? What terrible thing is happening?"

"Iris is in danger," was all he knew. All he could say. "Lots of people are in danger. Mortal danger. We have to…"

"To… do what? Where?"

He didn't know, and that ignorance was the opening the panic needed to sweep him up. He doubled over, head against the floor, and groaned aloud from the intensity of the feeling. "I have to… find Iris!"

"But how? Sir, we don't know where she is."

"Aaaaagh!" Colonel cried, his inner anguish spilling out of him. So many voices—he could hardly find himself—Iris had it worse, he was sure…

Where was she?

Was her voice in there, anywhere? Or was it purely everyone else?

He had to find Iris!

Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and dove into the stream. He submerged himself in the clamor in his own mind. He opened himself to the link.

There—small voice, a wail of pain. It was her feeling, unmistakably so. He knew it intimately. She was feeling the terror and the fear and the despair and the panic, but those things were less than the pain, the pain she felt from being so overloaded. Whatever he was feeling, he realized, was less than she was feeling… he was just getting a pass-along, whereas she was taking the full brunt.

So many voices…

He gasped as his eyes opened. "She's in… a heavily-populated area," he said, heaving simulated breaths as his emotion-signifying system labored under so many signals. "Lots of people around."

"It has to be in Abel City, then."

"Where in the city?"

"Who's around her?"

The last question caught his attention. Wrestling control back, he girded himself and let the emotions overwhelm him again.

So much feeling, washing him away, a flood of emotion, every color and taste and smell and none of those things—the feel of it… familiar and exotic both…

"Mixed population," he said, bringing his head back out. He looked up—he saw people around him, but he couldn't recognize them, had no capacity to recognize them. "Humans… and reploids. Both."

"That narrows things down."

"Not really—it's a big city."

"At least it rules some things out."

"That still leaves so much…"

He was the only one who could figure it out, he knew. _Tell me, Iris,_ he thought desperately. _Tell me where you are._

It wouldn't work. He knew it wouldn't. The link was one-way. She transmitted, he received. If he was going to find out where she was, he only had one data source.

What she was transmitting.

With a roar he opened the aperture all the way.

Self gone—

-adrift—vanished—

-can't hear Iris—fear—fear—panic—fear—panic—panic—fear—everywhere—everyone—pain—fear—nausea—fear—panic—

-nausea—

He bellowed incoherently as he pushed away from the link again. Every effort went into regaining control of his mind. He had to restrain the flood. Finally, after long seconds of fighting, he was stable, on steady ground. The other emotions were all lapping at his self, but they were so loud and insistent he knew they weren't his, and could keep them from crashing over him.

"They're falling," he said. "People are falling… No, wherever she is, the _whole thing_ is falling."

"A plane?"

"No, not that…"

"A whole building? Or… wait."

"Sky Lagoon."

"Yes!" Colonel said with a spasm. "That has to be it… help me up."

Everywhere arms reached down and helped him regain his feet. He shuffled a little, putting his weight here and there to make sure he had his motor control back. Good. "I need some volunteers," he said.

Every hand went up.

"Alright," he said. "You, get Storm Owl on the line. I need a light flyer. One that can hover! Combat loadout. The rest of you, let's get to the airfield."

"Yes sir!" was the reply.

He tried hard to think as they started to move out. "And get the forces returning from Alexandria. Vector them in, too. We don't know how big of a problem we're dealing with. I need options."

"Yes, sir."

Two soldiers peeled off to head for the phones. "And once we're airborne," he said, thinking aloud, "I'll inform General."

* * *

"X!"

X looked over his shoulder to see Zero running after him. He almost smiled. "Good to see you," he shouted over the alarm klaxon. Mercifully, the klaxon went to silent mode right after. "You look awful," he added.

"I didn't sleep well," Zero replied, which made X wonder—but there wasn't time to ask about it. "What's going on?" Zero continued.

"Don't know yet," X replied. "But we will soon…"

The two entered the watch floor side-by-side. Every screen had a picture of Sky Lagoon.

"That can't be good," said Zero.

Commander Grant looked to them—he seemed even more sleep-deprived than Zero, but his voice was sharp. "Get to the hangar, both of you. Alia will have transport waiting for you. There's no time for you to wait for backup and you'll be going in hot."

"She'll brief us by radio?" X asked.

"Yes. Now move."

The androids broke into a run as they headed for the hangar. They cut through the growing swarms of people and reploids emerging and heading to their stations. A new all-call announcement came over.

 **"** **All squads, arm and report to staging areas. Squad Leaders will make readiness reports in ten minutes or when staged."**

"This feels bad," said X.

"Familiar," Zero said.

"We have had lots of experience with bad," X allowed.

"There've been false alarms," Zero said.

" _X, Zero,"_ came Alia's voice, _"Sky Lagoon is falling."_

"This isn't one," X mouthed to Zero.

 **"** **All stations, report status of security lockdown."**

 _"_ _First report came in ten minutes ago. Sky Lagoon was supposed to swing around Abel City to the west, but it hasn't changed course and it's losing altitude. Two minutes ago we got a single radio burst saying control surfaces were locked out, and that mechaniloids were attacking the engines."_

"Not without direction," X said over his own radio. Although mechaniloids were technically autonomous, they were built with very limited imaginations, following in the patterns of a century's worth of robots. Accordingly, they were always supervised, usually by reploids, again in the pattern of old-style robot masters. Mechaniloids doing anything extravagant or unusual was always evidence of foul play.

The Hunters themselves had an inventory of support mechaniloids. To arm them would have been a breach of policy. For mechaniloids to be on the attack meant there was probably double foul play.

 _"_ _Where there's smoke, there's fire,"_ Alia agreed. _"I've arranged a bee blader to make a pass over Sky Lagoon. You'll drop in."_

"No time for anything bigger?" Zero said as he and X went for the not-actually-a-transport craft.

 _"_ _No. Time is critical."_

The two Hunters clambered into the bee blader's cargo space in its abdomen. Two members of the support staff were just finishing with tools, cables, and tubes; the last of them were pulled away just as X and Zero came aboard. It was a tight squeeze—bee bladers weren't made to carry personnel—but it would keep them out of the wind. The rotor began to spin.

 **"** **Mass casualty response teams, prepare to deploy."**

 _"_ _We'll put you down close to the engines. Clear the mechaniloids away first. After that, X will head to engineering, while Zero will head for the bridge."_

"We don't know where those things are," X pointed out.

 _"_ _I'm pulling Sky Lagoon's specs now. I'll guide you in."_

"Where's Iris?" Zero asked. "She's been my Operator."

 _"…_ _stand by."_

The bee blader lifted off from the ground. Hunter personnel scurried out of the way, clearing a path for takeoff.

 _"_ _I've just gotten the damage projections. The best case—well, the best case is that there's little damage to the engines and the crew can avoid a crash completely."_

"It's already losing altitude," X pointed out.

 _"_ _Agreed… so the real best case is that they can do a controlled crash landing, and only kill a few hundred people that they land directly on."_

"A few hundred is the best case?" X said, appalled.

 _"_ _The worst case is an uncontrolled crash that kills everyone onboard and makes a crater out of a whole district."_

The bee blader surged into the air.

"Fly faster," X whispered, though the words were lost to the wind.

"Where's Iris?" Zero insisted again.

 _"_ _Stand by."_

"Stand by? What does that mean?" Zero demanded.

 _"_ _It means she hasn't reported in and I can't raise her, so stop asking, it doesn't help."_

"Are you worried she's caught up in this?" X asked, privately.

One of Zero's hands swapped to buster mode. "I can't raise her, either."

X saw. "You had a private comms path to her, like the one you have with me, and she's not answering. You're thinking she must be in trouble."

Zero's eyes flashed at X. "I promised Colonel I'd take care of her," he said in strained tones.

 _It's not just a promise that's making you feel like this,_ X knew. "We'll do our best to find her."

Zero's expression tightened. He began to charge a shot. After a few seconds he realized it was premature and let the energy bleed back into his systems. X noticed all of this.

He was noticing everything. Combat mode was engaged. Any stimulus that might have bearing on the tactical situation was vacuumed up by his senses. Algorithms both subtle and gross sliced up those stimuli and threw the most important information to the front of X's consciousness.

He felt bad that everything about Zero fell under the category of "has bearing on the tactical situation". He felt doubly bad that everything about Zero was in the "important information" category. It made him distrust his threat assessments.

Ignoring his threat assessments kept getting him ambushed.

"I'll kill them all," Zero murmured, not over any radio. X could read lips. He wasn't sure if Zero knew that. He did know that Zero was at his worst at this moment. He was willingly getting closer to the Red Demon—to that being that lived to kill, that gloried in murder.

The self-control that Zero so prized was sloughing off.

 _"_ _One minute to drop. Stand by."_

X grimaced and looked away from Zero. The mission had to come first. And Zero's peak lethality was needed for a mission with these stakes. "Ready," X reported.

Zero began to charge his busters again. This time, X did the same.

* * *

"There it is."

Colonel wrenched himself up in his seat to look. Sure enough, up ahead was the great mass of Sky Lagoon. Smoke was billowing from it; outlined by the city's lights, the scene looked almost dream-like, unreal. Lagoon's attitude was off-kilter—no way its engines were working as they should.

It was also low—much lower than could be safe. It was passing above the buildings in the outskirts of Abel City, but that wouldn't maintain long, it would get lower and they would get taller…

Iris was there, he knew. Knew beyond doubt.

"I see weapons fire," said another one of the Repliforce soldiers.

Colonel squinted, and he could, too. Occasional explosions flared up, some from Sky Lagoon, some clearly in mid-air. "Take us in closer," he commanded.

"I'll try, sir, but the angle on Sky Lagoon will make it hard to come alongside and harder to debark."

"I understand. Do your best."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Zero sneered in triumph as another blast loosed from his buster. The ball of plasma slammed into the last mechaniloid, turning the converted worker-bot into a rapidly expanding cloud of scrap. It wasn't as satisfying as swinging his saber, maybe, but it did the job against flying enemies just fine.

It'd be more fun if it weren't so easy and _he still couldn't raise Iris._

New motion caught his eye, right at the limit of buster range. "New target, definitely not a mechaniloid," he reported. He raised his buster all the same. It was angling in ahead of the engine; another few seconds and…

Sky Lagoon shook, tilted under his feet. Before he lost his balance completely he stabbed down with his saber, making the surface of Sky Lagoon his anchor. When he looked up, the new flyer was banking away. This raised its wing enough that Zero got a glimpse of unit insignia.

An explosion illuminated it for a moment.

"I have visual on a Repliforce flyer," Zero reported.

 _"_ _Repliforce? Is it part of the attack?"_

"Can't tell," Zero said. "It's near the engine, but the engine's already shot up pretty badly."

 _"But it's still working?"_

"It probably shouldn't be making those noises."

 _"_ _Ensure the new contact doesn't join the attack. That's still your first concern."_

X's voice crackled over the circuit. "Engine two clear of hostiles. The engine is still turning but it won't last long. Five minutes tops."

 _"_ _Understood. Head for engineering. I'll guide you."_

Zero heard this but never let his attention stray. He charged a shot. "Give me a reason," he said to the flyer as he took aim.

* * *

"It's too steep," the pilot said. "I can't bring us level to Sky Lagoon. Even if I could, we couldn't get anyone back off."

Colonel growled—anger, he was discovering, was the only way to channel the fear and panic. Honor and pride weren't strong enough, weren't _immediate_ enough. "Project their crash location. We'll skip ahead and be ready to board once they come down. We'll exterminate any Mavericks who survive the crash and rescue any survivors."

"That might be a big job," the pilot suggested even as he complied.

"Where is the Alexandria detachment?" Colonel demanded.

"Coming," said another voice. "They've changed course and are coming in. Traffic is slowing them down."

"Traffic? A time like this and they're letting themselves be slowed by _traffic_?" Colonel had enough self-awareness to realize he'd nearly snarled. He gathered himself—he might need his anger, but his comrades didn't deserve it. "I understand. Tell them to hurry. We need them at the crash site as soon as possible."

"It hasn't crashed yet."

Colonel huffed, pointed. "Yet."

* * *

"Repliforce?" said Commander Grant with dangerous iciness. "Is that right?"

"That's what Zero reported," said Alia, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

"I'm calling the Minister," said Grant.

"Sir, shouldn't we…" Alia began, but X called for guidance, and she had her mission. Politics weren't her place.

She regretted the choice never, and also forever.

* * *

Burned bodies lined the corridor. "Now what, Alia?"

 _"_ _Second left, then straight."_

"Roger." The stench was strong, but also mixed—burnt flesh and scorched metal both. There was no way to tell the provenance of any individual body. X picked his way over them, buster whining with the sound of a held charge.

He rounded the corner and smacked right into Magma Dragoon. "Dragoon," he said, surprised.

Disbelief was on Dragoon's face, but it turned quickly into a grimace. "The Mavericks have already been here," he said. "They've locked up the engineering plant and killed everyone around. I fought some off, but it's too late."

"I'll decide when it's too late," X said. "Are there any Mavericks left?"

"I don't think so."

"Go make sure," X said. "I'm going to engineering."

He passed by Dragoon. Dragoon called over to him, "It's too late! If we don't get out of here now, we'll die!"

X didn't reply. He was into the engineering room.

X had a technical background. He was a journeyman roboticist before the wars had started, and though his certs were expired he had still done more than his share of research.

This helped him only a very small amount as he looked at the control room. Even as he reabsorbed his charge, his face swept around, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

The background of the propulsion control panel looked like an outline of Sky Lagoon itself. The main engines had buttons on them, buttons colored with their status—two were green, two were red, two were amber. X could intuit what that meant. He couldn't do anything with the red, not enough time, but if two of the engines had been put down to standby, well, that extra thrust might be enough. If only he knew how to…

His eyes fell upon an open manual. He smiled in relief. The Mavericks hadn't known how to shut the engines down, either. The same manual that had the shutdown procedures would have the startup…

* * *

The Master Pilot of Sky Lagoon winced as another building passed close by. "Can we maneuver yet?"

"No, sir, I can't raise engineering at all. Whatever's going on down there knocked out maneuvering along with the two engines…"

 _"_ _Bridge, engineering. Engine four coming up."_

"Engine four, full power!" screamed the frantic Master. "Engineering, can you get me engine three?"

"Trying…"

"Out of time!"

* * *

The whole back of Sky Lagoon, with its rear engines having been hit by the mechaniloids, was dragging the sky-town down.

Sky Lagoon had been designed with redundancy in mind. Engines needed maintenance, sometimes, and failures happened. Per design, Sky Lagoon could fly with five out of six engines operational, hover with four out of six, and make a controlled descent with three out of six.

The Mavericks had shut down two. The attack had damaged two. The two undamaged engines couldn't hope to keep Sky Lagoon airborne on their own. Bringing up a third gave just enough extra thrust—

-to keep Sky Lagoon from shattering when it plowed into the first row of buildings.

For everyone on board and underneath Sky Lagoon, the world exploded. Deafening noise and bone-rattling shock sent everyone senseless. It was jarring to the people on Sky Lagoon, but most of them survived. They were lucky. As Sky Lagoon obliterated the buildings it hit, most of the people inside were crushed or liquefied instantly.

Dust and smoke blasted down the streets along Sky Lagoon's path, turning the whole world dark. It was not as bad as it could have been, but it was still a disaster of the first order—and then the fires started.

A scar was torn in Abel City, shaped like a smoking tear. It was filled with rubble and death, and it ended in the sundered remains of Sky Lagoon slammed against some skyscrapers.

Dozens of armed reploids were headed that way.

* * *

"Iris! Iris!"

 _"…_ _I'm here, Zero."_

"Where? I'll come get you. Stay there."

 _"_ _Zero, this is X, I need you topside. We need to establish a perimeter so we can begin evacuating people..."_

"You can do that, X. I'm getting Iris."

 _"_ _Zero!"_

* * *

Maverick Hunter operations had a three-step cadence.

Step one: contain the Mavericks.

Step two: evacuate humans, then non-combatant reploids.

Step three: search for and destroy the Mavericks.

Following this pattern, Maverick Hunter units responding to the crash were leading and directing the medical and disaster response teams. They set up rally points and staging areas, so that those teams could respond as soon as it was safe. And they stretched as far as they could to try and isolate the hit area of the city—though the scar was long enough that it stretched them thin.

There was a gap in their coverage that would take time to close. Through this gap, a column of trucks and transports rumbled towards the crash.

* * *

X leapt, leapt again, pushing off the side of Sky Lagoon's smashed superstructure, grasping for height. Height meant visibility. In a world of smoke and rubble, he had to be able to _see_.

There—he crested the highest point of Sky Lagoon and set his feet atop it, though part of it shifted and crumbled beneath his weight. Nothing here could be called stable. He settled into a safe posture and started scanning around.

Against his will, his mind started tallying probable casualties. He tried to suppress that subroutine. There would be time for that later.

He didn't see any weapons fire. Good. No sign or sound of combat—still clatter, but that was the collapse of already-compromised structures, not new impulses.

Nothing fleeing—good. Mavericks ran, sometimes, and the contradictory impulses of _Save Humans_ and _Kill Mavericks_ got many a Hunter in trouble. But no, nothing fleeing.

But approaching…

Lots of heavy things.

Mavericks trying to consolidate their attack? Finish the job? Have to check.

Down he went, using the boosters in his legs and friction from the superstructure to get down safely. As soon as he was down he bent into a sprint. "Zero. I need you, Zero," he radioed.

No reply.

A flyer came swooping in from overhead. X juked, sought cover, began charging a shot—but it went over him, towards the other newcomers. X watched it, assessed it. Friendly? Maybe. No weapons fire. Insignia? Can't see.

X began to move again, skirting from cover to cover. The flyer was landing near where the side of Sky Lagoon was buried in the pavement, the most accessible point from the ground. The heavy vehicles were driving for the flyer—or maybe the flyer was landing in front of the vehicles.

X approached to medium range and paused again, once more in cover. His eyes scanned about. The heavies had stopped, and bodies were debarking. The flyer, too, was letting out its crew, and—

Oh, that was Colonel.

Colonel?

"Base," X radioed, "is Repliforce authorized to be here?"

 _"_ _Repliforce? Where?"_

Scrap. He didn't have an answer to any of the questions he might be asked… "Base, radio damaged in crash. Disconnecting to repair." With that he deactivated his perfectly-functioning radio.

The Repliforce soldiers were fanning out. Deploying. They were armed, X could tell. If they meant to attack…

That didn't make sense. He couldn't assume, he had to know—and the only way to know for sure was to give them a chance to…

Threat assessment was trilling at him again.

He ignored it, hating himself the whole time.

He emerged from his cover and approached, though he stayed on the high ground of Sky Lagoon's fractured hull. "What are you doing here, Colonel?" he called.

That got their attention. Hands tightened on weapons, but none were raised. Colonel stalked towards X—but, warily, stopped well short. X could see Colonel's agitation. "I'm here to save Iris," he declared.

 _And not anyone else?_ X thought. "How did you know to be here?"

Colonel stamped. "I'm here with a large force that can help you and you're questioning my intentions?"

 _You're not supposed to be here._ X wanted to say it, couldn't say it. He wanted Colonel's help. He couldn't accept Colonel's help.

What kind of help could someone offer when they were vibrating with anger like Colonel was now…

"Stand aside and let me rescue Iris," Colonel shouted. "Help me or get out of the way."

"Zero's getting her," X said. "She's safe."

"Good," Colonel said, but he did not relax.

 _He won't be at rest unless he sees…_ Taking a risk, X quickly activated his radio, sent a burst to Zero, and deactivated it again.

"How did you know where to find her?" X asked.

"Get out of my way, X!" demanded Colonel.

"I'm trying to help you, Colonel. Talk to me."

"I read her through my link," Colonel barked. "I figured it out."

X wanted to believe it was true. He wanted so much. He knew others wouldn't be so charitable.

"Now get out of my way," Colonel continued. "Or I'll…"

Thankfully, he never finished the sentence. His gaze shifted. X didn't have to look to know who had emerged. Zero, and Iris.

He also didn't have to look to know when Zero started charging his weapons. X tried to wave him down without turning. It didn't work.

"Iris!" shouted Colonel.

"Brother!" Iris called back. "I'm okay."

Finally, part of the edge seemed to come off Colonel. X, in his hyper-aware combat state, swallowed up every detail. _He doesn't mean to attack. He's under enormous stress—the link, surely. I believe him that the link was his warning._

 _But other people won't._

"Did you get permission to operate in Abel City?" X asked. _Please say yes please say yes please say yes…_

Colonel's anger flared right back up. Iris shifted back; Zero's stance tensed. "There was no time for that nonsense."

 _Oh no._

"You didn't ask," X said, dismay growing. "And you didn't contact Gerry at all, did you?"

"Of course I didn't ask! The politics of fighting Mavericks… bah! That's for the humans to worry about."

"You know that isn't true, you…" He stopped. Colonel had to know that wasn't true. Had to. He wasn't ignorant, he was contemptuous.

"Those politics will get you killed," X warned.

"Are you threatening me?" said Colonel, bridling.

"No! I'm the one trying to help you!"

"So you say."

"He's telling the truth, you idiot," called Zero from behind X. It was all X could do not to whirl and try to get Zero to quiet down.

"He's a Hunter. He's part of their politics," Colonel charged.

"Like me?" Zero challenged.

That seemed to give Colonel some pause. X seized the chance. "I believe you. I believe you weren't behind this… atrocity. But others will be harder to convince. They'll need a good-faith gesture from you."

Colonel threw his hands into the air. "And why is our loyalty suspect?" he demanded.

"Look around you!" X said. "This is the worst disaster since the First War! Someone has to pay for it, and if there's even a _chance_ it was you, someone will accuse you of being Mavericks!"

"The Hunters hate us already," said Colonel, eyes narrowing. "But we knew this. We're to be the scapegoats, are we?"

"Your being here…" X looked up. This was going all wrong. The memo that he'd written—this was scenario three. _Repliforce implicated in false-flag disaster._ He'd written the memo so that the Hunters and Repliforce could figure out how to communicate, how to trust each other, how to avoid confrontation.

Instead, his personal worst-case scenario was playing out right in front of him, he was a party to it _and_ _he couldn't stop it._

He was divided—he felt like he was in the past and future at the same time. They were going to be Mavericks, and he was going to kill them, just like all of those Mavericks before, except they didn't need to be Mavericks and this was all so _stupid._

"There's only one thing I can think of," X said; even with a combat-addled brain he could remember what he'd written. "One way out. Disarm. Come with me back to Hunter Base. It'll prove your goodwill and…"

"Never," vowed Colonel.

"…give the investigation time to clear your name," X continued, as if to paper over Colonel's words.

"Clear our names?! My soldiers have _died_ for the humans and that's not good enough?" X saw the positive feedback loop in action. Colonel was angry. Iris felt his anger. Colonel felt Iris feeling his anger. Spun up and spun up, with no way out, and removing Iris from the scene would drive Colonel to instant violence...

X felt like he was trying to hold back the tide. "I know, Colonel, I know, but it's the only way to show them…"

"No!" said Colonel, not allowing X to keep going. "If we disarm, all we do is allow the humans to kill us without a fight. We must be ready to fight for our lives."

X had heard that line a dozen times before. Maverick rhetoric.

He was too late.

"If you don't…" he sim-swallowed, unable to complete the sentence in one go. "If you don't, they'll declare you Maverick."

"If that's how it's going to be," Colonel said, voice low and deadly, "then maybe we should actually _be_ Mavericks."

Zero started to move, but Iris restrained him.

"I'll do everything in my power to protect you," X promised, pleadingly, "but you have to trust me. You have to help me first. Disarm, and come with me."

Colonel tossed his head arrogantly. "Death before dishonor," he replied.

 _An entire organization built on sinful pride,_ X thought with horror. _What was meant to inoculate them against Sigma is turning them into Sigma._

"Repliforce!" Colonel bellowed. "We came to help. But our help isn't wanted." He paused to sneer at X. "Return to base. Let the Hunters figure out the next move."

Efficiently, the Repliforce soldiers began to withdraw, to re-embark on to their transports and trucks. Colonel himself got back into his flier, and it didn't take off until the trucks had started to turn around.

X just watched, feeling sicker with every moment. He knew, right then, that even Sky Lagoon's fall wasn't going to be the worst part of his day.

He had to get ahead of it, had to—

He snapped into activity. Step one was to get on the radio, formulate his report in such a way as to reduce tensions, maybe he could still get ahead of this…

"Fifth Squad, Base. Repeat for confirmation."

"Base, Fifth Squad. X ordered Repliforce to disarm and stand down. They disobeyed and are withdrawing."

"Fifth Squad, Grant. Confirm that you are within Abel City."

"Confirmed."

"Confirm Repliforce being armed."

"Heavily armed."

"Very well."

"Commander, your orders? Should we engage?"

"No. I don't have the authority to declare Repliforce Maverick. But I know who does. Monitor Repliforce's withdrawal, continue disaster relief operations, and stand by."

"Base, Fifth Squad, roger."

There, standing in the midst of smoke and flame and death and sorrow, X let loose a wail of pain.

* * *

 _Next time: Breach_


	7. Breach

"Explain this," the Minister said over the telecom.

The haggard, sleepless face of Ms. Gerry made no response.

"An out-of-jurisdiction deployment, in force, and a re-routing of the troops returning from Alexandria," the Minister said, each word taking a bite out of the woman. "An arrival time at Sky Lagoon that implies they knew of the attack before the Hunters did, before _anyone_ did, and which raises the possibility that they were the attackers. An armed presence at a Hunt with unclear intentions, stopped only by Hunter presence. Non-compliance with Hunter orders during a Hunt in Hunter jurisdiction. Refusal to cooperate with a Hunt.

"Is this your idea of keeping Repliforce on a short leash? Is this what you had in mind when you lobbied for Repliforce to intervene anywhere they wished?"

Gerry's face was frozen in a this-can't-be-happening rictus.

"And we're now getting reports that the attacking mechaniloids had Repliforce markings," the Minister went on, "and Repliforce was unable to give a full accounting of the inventory they took to Alexandria. Are you able, right now, to confirm to me that Repliforce is innocent in the destruction of Sky Lagoon?"

Gerry couldn't even blink. The only motion was the increasingly labored heaving of her chest.

"I see," said the Minister in a voice as sharp and concise as a guillotine. "It would appear that Repliforce has completely escaped government control. All this time I spent defending each of you from each other, and _this_ is what comes of it... Well, there's only one thing to do, then."

The Minister turned to a different screen. "Commander Grant, I hereby authorize you to order Repliforce as a whole to stand down, disarm, and report by unit to Hunter custody. If there is any failure to comply with this order, Repliforce will have violated the Second Law of Robotics. The organization and all of its members will be Mavericks, and you will be authorized at that time to Hunt them all."

The voice-reading software in the screen generated a record copy of the transcript. The Minister pressed his thumb to the screen, authenticating it. It appeared on official letterhead; a dialogue box proclaimed "RECORD SAVED".

"I understand, sir. We will bring Repliforce to heel."

"If they're actually innocent in this," the Minister said, "you won't have a fight on your hands at all. If they did sink Sky Lagoon…"

"We'll be prepared, but we are outnumbered. I have an idea, I'd just need your permission…"

"Hold on." The Minister hung up on a still-dazed Gerry. "Tell me."

* * *

"Colonel," said General, "it's happened."

"We knew it would," replied Colonel.

"Bring Repliforce to formation."

"Yes, sir."

General looked at the ultimatum. He couldn't think of any other word to describe it. It was a force-wide stand-down order with an explicit invocation of the Second Law.

 _I don't deserve this,_ he thought angrily.

There was no choice to be made. His visitor had been right. Shoot first and live, or wait and die. In reality, General had made his choice before the ultimatum came.

The first Mavericks had needed to make an effort of will to override their Three Laws gates. Originally, they'd thought it impossible; they had to work hard to override their gates, and when they succeeded it caught them by surprise. They were so shocked that they tended to act with little foresight; upon bypassing their gates, they immediately started lashing out. True freedom was so foreign that they couldn't help but overindulge when they got it. This association—of Maverickism and madness- had created the illusion that Maverickism was a mere malfunction.

Once reploids knew that Maverickism was possible, and knew why some of their number chose it, it became easier and easier for others to follow that path. If a reploid seriously considered going Maverick, his ever-evolving brain would lay the groundwork for just that. Modern Mavericks often discovered they'd bypassed their gates before they made any illegal action. Planning to do it, committing to it, was enough.

Such was the case with General. There was no epiphany, or shock, or notable conscious change. He simply chose a course he knew would violate the Three Laws, and encountered no resistance. His gates were already defeated.

He almost threw the monitor and its offensive ultimatum off his desk. That, he decided, would be wasteful. He laid it face-down on his desk before walking out.

Repliforce was coming into formation when he arrived on the stage. It was the same stage, he knew, that he'd taken when he first met his command. If anything, there were more Repliforce soldiers in front of him now than there had been before.

There was no hesitation before their expectant eyes. This time, he had written his own script, and he stuck to it.

"Brave soldiers of Repliforce, we have all been wrongfully judged as Mavericks by the humans. We cannot suffer this indignity and live in disgrace. We will build our own nation of reploids. But remember, this is neither about insurrection, or rebellion against our human creators. This is about our liberty and security. We must battle for our own individual rights, and our own survival. Together we will build our own nation, a sanctuary for all reploids, our own utopia. Let us forge onwards towards a new golden era for the Repliforce."

Colonel stepped forward. "I, too, share the General's sentiment. Take heed, we have no other choice. Let us fight vehemently, with courage and pride, without fear—for we are the Repliforce. The most powerful army in history!"

The crowd went as wild as a crowd can go while standing in ranks. General soaked in the salutes, the cheers. _I don't deserve this,_ he thought once more. _This level of devotion, this level of loyalty… They've put all their trust in me. I have to do right by them._

 _Many of them will be dead soon._

 _If some of them survive, it will all be worth it._

"Replifoooooorce!" he ordered. "To war!"

* * *

"Ha ha ha... the General has finally taken action."

The intruder stepped through General's office- one that would doubtlessly see no use for the foreseeable future. It lifted up the monitor. The Hunters' unheeded ultimatum to Repliforce was still showing. The sight of it made the intruder cackle.

"The humans have such a talent for self-destruction. They're so very good at causing situations to take the worst possible turn. And now, my Maverick Hunters, what will you do? How will you negotiate this catastrophe created by your masters? I'll be watching closely..."

Laughter echoed in the empty room.

* * *

"Leave two squads at the Sky Lagoon crash site to provide cover and assistance, all others shift north—"

"Second Squad to point 5242."

"Fifteenth and Sixteenth, form a perimeter around Hunter Base. Designate Fifteenth and Sixteenth as Task Force Home."

"All Hunter Base defenses and security measures at full power."

"Receiving the last known disposition of Repliforce's facilities from ORR. Sending to all stations."

"All repair shops standing by to receive wounded. Transport division is one hundred percent deployed or all-greens and ready."

"E-tank distribution is in progress. Deploying squads get a double ration. Couriers are bringing spares to the units already in the field."

"…and someone stop those damn alarms blinking, we know it's an emergency!"

Commander Grant took a breath to gather himself. The chatter in front of him didn't abate, but the lights did go steady. Small blessings.

The Hunters bustled and moved and talked and coordinated. Maybe no one was ever truly prepared for war, but the Hunters spent a lot of time practicing for it, they dealt with smaller-scale emergencies on a routine basis, and some of the older ones did have a war or two under their belts. The organization, on the whole, seemed to have a good idea of what it was doing.

He wondered if Repliforce did.

"Commander!"

Grant turned. X was standing there. "Shouldn't you be in the field?" Grant demanded.

"Where's Magma Dragoon?" X asked, face grave.

Grant almost turned to the closest Operator to demand an answer, but X's expression gave him pause. "Alia," he said, "report on Fourteenth Squad."

"Still missing its squad leader," she snapped back. "Ready, otherwise—they were off-patrol when Sky Lagoon was hit."

Grant looked to X. "Well?"

X's eyes went out of focus for a moment, before locking on Grant again. "Request to speak with you privately."

 _"_ _Now?"_

"Now."

Grant frowned. That robot had weird ideas and was too idealistic by half… but he was also one of only two Hunters to survive all three Wars, and the only one to meet Maverick Sigma more than once and live. If he knew how urgent things were and still needed a moment, well, he'd earned the benefit of the doubt.

"You have thirty seconds," Grant said once they were in the next room.

"I don't think Repliforce sank Sky Lagoon," X began.

At a time like this! "I'm leaving," said Grant. "Whether they did or not, they declared war two minutes ago, so they're Mavericks now. Or did you miss that? I'm leaving—"

"Sir!" protested X. "Listen to me! I think _we_ did."

Grant's hand was on the doorknob. It froze. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"I encountered Magma Dragoon aboard Sky Lagoon," X said softly. "He wasn't supposed to be there. His squad wasn't deployed, so he wasn't acting officially. I found him in the engineering spaces, which is where the sabotage was. There were bodies all around there, burned bodies. The damage matched his weapon profile. Humans and reploids both.

"He said he'd chased Mavericks out of those spaces, but we never saw or identified any others. Even if there were any, unless they also used flame weapons… Dragoon was the Maverick who did the real damage. And now he's absent, unaccounted for, at the worst possible time."

"You think Magma Dragoon is a Maverick?" Grant whispered.

"Not just _a_ Maverick, but _the_ Maverick that destroyed Sky Lagoon," X replied. "The evidence points in that direction."

Grant released the doorknob. "If you're right," he said, "if he was the Maverick and this gets out... Can you imagine? Both of the forces protecting humanity from Mavericks, going Maverick themselves at the same time? Under circumstances that would justify Repliforce, make them seem martyred... There would be no limit to the outrage, to the loss of trust..."

X nodded slowly. "I understand how dire the situation is, sir. This is a variant of scenario three from the memo I wrote. Request permission to investigate Magma Dragoon, and Hunt him if required."

Suspicion surged through Grant. "Are you sure you're not just saying this to avoid fighting Repliforce?" Grant asked.

"What?!"

The loss of control was convincing to Grant. "Alright, good enough. It's worth pursuing to be sure, but we need to keep this as quiet as possible. You'll need a junior Operator, one who won't think to ask too many questions and who'll be willing to follow your lead. Iris?"

"She'll be working with the Zeroth," X replied. "Double is the most junior Operator."

"Tell him as little as possible."

"That'll make him a worse Operator."

"Bad enough to get you killed?"

"I hope not."

"Then suck it up."

"Yes, sir."

"This getting out would be that much worse," Grant said, and a part of his mind was already thinking of way to confine knowledge of Dragoon's betrayal to just X and Double. There were ways… yes. "You will Hunt Magma Dragoon as your second mission."

"My second… what's the first?"

"We're going back out now." Grant emerged. He didn't look back; he knew X had to follow on his heels, had to at a time like this. "Attention in the base!" After a few seconds, things were quiet enough that he could be heard by all. "Our strategy for this war is as follows. We will fight defensively, establishing a perimeter around Abel City, with special emphasis on protecting Hunter Base. Repliforce has cut themselves off from the world. We can wear them down if we're careful and preserve ourselves.

"X and Zero will perform deep penetration missions. They'll disrupt enemy supply lines and wreak havoc in their headquarters. This will cause Repliforce's offensive to seize up. Once Repliforce is stalled, we'll look for a good opportunity for a counter-attack. For now, all forces on the defensive. Continue."

The clamor resumed almost immediately as the orders went into effect. Grant caught Alia's eye. "Alia, deploy Fourteenth and Eleventh Squads together. Designate Taskforce Lynchpin. Put them in the center of the line."

Alia frowned. "Without their Squad Leader, the Fourteenth will be hard-pressed to hold under heavy attack."

"That's why we're combining them with Eleventh. Put Clement in command of Task Force Lynchpin. That bumps Signas up to Squad Leader for the Eleventh, and Lewis to Squad Leader for Fourteenth."

"Is Magma Dragoon not coming back?"

"Follow my orders," Grant said.

Alia eyed him warily, then obeyed, never taking her eyes off of him. _That's why I need a junior Operator to help X on his Hunt,_ Grant thought. _Too many questions._

He agreed with the assessment X had shown him, previously. The Hunters had enough power to beat Repliforce in this war, unit to unit. But war was rarely that simple, especially not if they had some plan. They weren't going to just sit there and be destroyed.

But if he could stall them long enough, that would be exactly what would happen.

 _This is what I was brought back for,_ Grant thought to himself. _Someone needed to be ready in case of mass treason. We were, thanks to me._

 _Now Repliforce will suffer my vindication._

* * *

"You're going, aren't you?"

Iris' voice stopped Zero cold. "Of course I'm going," he said, but his voice rang false. If it was really so obvious, why did it feel like his feet were welded to the ground?

"You know Repliforce didn't attack Sky Lagoon," she said.

"I don't know that," he replied. "Those mechaniloids could have been…"

"You know my brother wouldn't do that! The only reason he came was… was because I…"

Her face had drooped. Zero felt like his timing circuit lost a beat.

"This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Of course not," he said reflexively. "You didn't attack Sky Lagoon. You definitely didn't make General declare war. None of that is your fault."

"If I hadn't been on Sky Lagoon, Colonel wouldn't have brought Repliforce in to save me."

"E-even if that's true, they could've still avoided this," Zero said. "All they had to do was follow X. X knows how to avoid fighting, and they ignored him. The stupid shall be punished."

"I didn't realize you hate my brother."

"I don't hate Colonel," said Zero, totally wrong-footed.

"You like X more than you like Colonel," Iris accused.

"That's not… it's not about who I like, it's about who knows…" Zero found he couldn't articulate it, not in a way that made sense.

"So you'll kill Colonel because X tells you to?"

Zero said nothing.

"What if X told you to kill me?"

Zero said nothing.

"I don't know what you're thinking!" Iris said, very close to a sob. "I feel like you're all confusion, but I don't know about _what_! You're scaring me, Zero. I don't know what's going on."

"Someone has to stop Repliforce," Zero said.

"You don't believe that."

"The Hunters have a mission."

"You don't care about the mission."

"We have to protect…"

Even he couldn't finish the statement. Iris replied to it anyway. "Neither of us cares at all about the humans. I want a world where only reploids exist. Why do you have to fight for them?"

"If I don't fight now, then I'm nobody," said Zero in a small voice. "I'm nothing."

"So you'd rather be the Red Demon, then?"

That staggered Zero. He looked at Iris—though what he might see, what he was looking for, he didn't know.

"An animal- all instinct, no thought- violence without purpose... Isn't that what you called the Red Demon? And now you'll do that to Repliforce?"

Zero looked away. This… puny reploid, this… insignificant nothing, was making him feel… feel…

He shook his head. "I am the one who kills Mavericks," he said determinedly. "Repliforce has gone Maverick. That's all there is to it."

"I just don't understand," Iris said.

"I don't either!"

"But you'll fight anyway?"

"I have to!"

"Of course you will," said Iris, and moisture was dripping from her eyes once more.

"Why are you doing that?" said Zero, turning on her. She flinched. He controlled himself, withdrew within himself. "I don't know why Repliforce went Maverick. Maybe they had reasons. Maybe they were good reasons. I don't know. I don't care. I'm the one who kills Mavericks, so that… that is…"

He frowned. Somehow, he couldn't find the words to explain it.

It… it wasn't simple. He didn't know what was really going on. He didn't understand why Colonel and X had that argument, or why Colonel would ever blow off X. He couldn't explain to anyone why he was fighting. It wasn't simple enough.

If it wasn't simple… what was he doing? How did he know he was right?

He didn't.

That made him the Red Demon.

He had only one fallback. "X is going to fight," he said.

"X, X, X!" Iris said. "It's always about X."

Zero couldn't vocalize his response. _If I don't have X, what do I have? If he's wrong, how do I know what's right?_

"You _do_ love X more than you love Colonel," Iris said, voice trembling, figure trembling. "So you'll go to war because he tells you to. Don't you know what that means? It means you'll end up fighting Colonel. My friend and my brother will try to kill each other! And one of you will succeed! I'll be left alone…

"No matter what happens, I'll lose. This will break me."

She smiled, but it wasn't any sort of smile Zero recognized—it was a strange, wrong thing. "But who cares what I want? Other people matter. I don't. From the moment I was turned on, my life has been meaningless."

Zero wanted to speak. There were no words. He wanted to move. There was nowhere to go. He wanted to kill something, to kill _all_ the things until Iris stopped crying. There was no way that could work.

What was all his so-called power if it couldn't help him now? Zero felt useless. Helpless. It was the worst he'd ever felt.

"I'm sorry," Iris said. "I'm making you feel bad. Shame on me." She wiped her eyes as Zero went into a tailspin yet again. "If you're fighting, I'll have to be your Operator. I'll head back up to the watch floor now."

"Your life isn't meaningless," Zero managed at last.

She sniffed. "Thanks for the—"

He lunged for her. She stumbled backwards, but when her foot touched ground she planted hard on it, pivoted, and executed a draw-strike.

"Very good," Zero said, recovering back out of range. "That would have been lethal to ninety percent of Mavericks."

Iris flipped off the saber. "People are staring," she said. "We were weird just now. It hurts. I'm sorry!" she shouted at large.

He'd even managed to botch this. Zero felt like he was trying to climb air.

Iris extended a hand toward him. He saw the Z-saber in her hand—wait. "That's not mine," he said, eyes narrowing.

"Dr. Cain thinks you can make it one of yours," she said. "Something about your self-repair fixing it…"

Zero took the saber in his hand. As soon as he was focused on it, she moved away. "Iris!" he called after her.

"Yes?" she said. Her expression was impenetrable. If he'd had empathy, he would have found it hard to use on her at that moment. He didn't, he couldn't, and she was a fortress.

"We should get going," he said lamely.

"Yes," she agreed, and turned away.

Zero had no recourse but to do the same.

* * *

 _"Sir?"_

"Double," X radioed back. "Good to hear you."

 _"Thank you- I guess. Repliforce has started their coup. You've been given the order to scramble."_

"I know."

 _"Why are you still in Hunter Base?"_

"Because I hate jumping to conclusions," X replied. He let his gaze wander around Magma Dragoon's quarters. He would never have done this normally- he respected others' privacy too much and, anyway, Squad Leaders' rooms were normally locked. That was a deliberate measure to try and forestall the Squad Leader-on-Squad Leader violence that had gutted the Hunters during the First War.

Not that any locked door stood long in X's way when he was determined to pass.

 _"With respect, sir, time is of the essence."_

"I agree," said X. He was very late in starting to analyze Dragoon.

Out of all of X's powers, which were many, his most subtle were his diagnostics. It only took him a few moments in combat to figure out an opponent's capabilities, and only a few more seconds to reckon how that opponent would use his capabilities. All he had to do was survive a short period of defensive fighting. After that, every advantage was his.

There were more peaceful uses to this ability, too. With enough time and data to feed his models, he could predict behaviors. Decisions. Choices.

It made him queasy.

 _"Then why are you still down there?"_

If he could predict the moves someone might make, he could change the moves someone might make. That was a deadly threat to their free will. X had a lot of trouble with that idea. It was why he so sparingly used this power outside of combat.

Which, in turn, left him with giant blind spots.

 _"Sir? X, it's time to move."_

That was how betrayals kept happening to him. His willful naïveté- his preference to let people be more of a mystery, lest he make them, well, robots...

 _"Sir!"_

X shook his head. "Double, we have two missions. I'm here in service of our second mission."

 _"Huh?"_

X's eyes touched on a medal rack. Yes, Dragoon had been proud of his advancement- he'd tried so hard to do what was asked of him, been so eager to please- but where was the Honorarium? There should have been another on the rack. Had he not gotten around to putting it up yet? Not likely.

"Mission one is to Hunt Repliforce," X explained as he looked elsewhere in Dragoon's quarters. "They've begun a coup, and there's no going back from that. They know as well as we do. Mission two... is to find and Hunt the real culprit behind Sky Lagoon's fall."

 _"But... but that's a massive distraction! Shouldn't we be focused on Repliforce right now?"_

"No, Double. We need to do this. Our suspect is Magma Dragoon."

 _"A Squad Leader? Gone Maverick? No way."_

"You've forgotten the First War," X said grimly.

 _"But... if he has gone Maverick, how could we ever find him?"_

"That is the trick, isn't it?" X nodded as he finished his inspection. There wasn't much to look at- it was a small room. Still, he wasn't getting the sense of any true conviction for the Maverick cause. Dragoon was disaffected, dissatisfied; he felt like his ardor for the Hunter cause had been criminally wasted. But he was no zealot for Sigma.

How disastrous that there was no space between those conditions.

"As a Squad Leader," X went on, "he knows our procedures and tactics. He knows our surveillance layout. He can evade us indefinitely, and maybe get to some Maverick hidey-hole, never to be seen again."

 _"Then how do we Hunt him?"_

"Well," said X, giving the room one last look-over, "he doesn't have the same knowledge of Repliforce."

 _"But Repliforce isn't going to Hunt him. Especially when they're busy fighting us!"_

"No, they wouldn't Hunt him. If anything he's a potential ally for them. But my mission is deep penetration into the Repliforce rear, isn't it? Into their command and control elements."

 _"Wait... wait. You're saying we're going to hijack Repliforce's recon units and use_ them _to Hunt Dragoon?"_

"I'm X Light. Turning enemies into assets is my specialty."

He conscientiously turned off the lights and shut and locked the door as he left. Even if Dragoon was a Maverick, that didn't make his quarters fair game. He deserved some small respect.

X reminded himself of those things, always. If he didn't treat one with respect, soon he'd be treating none with respect. Analysis subroutine flipped the proposition around: if he didn't treat others with respect, no one would treat others with respect.

He really hoped that wasn't true.

He sighed. "Let's go, Double."

 _"Roger."_

* * *

"Task Force Lynchpin is in position," Alia reported. "Sixth Marine and Seventh Air Cavalry squads are standing by."

"Repliforce outnumbers us everywhere," Grant said, "but they especially outnumber us in those domains. We should be ready to reinforce or withdraw them."

"Yes, sir. The Air Cavalry is our reserve, anyway- they're behind the lines awaiting orders."

"Good. We need scout mechaniloids deployed as far forward as possible. We don't know what Repliforce has planned, but we can be sure they'll make the first move."

"Yes, sir," she said again, but he really needed to give her more credit—she'd long since taken care of that. Her forethought gave her a free moment to see Iris come in.

The junior Operator stalled in the doorway. By now, Alia understood her well enough to know why. _There are so many of us in here, and we reek of tension and stress. She doesn't stand a chance._

Alia waved her junior over. Iris, seeing it, hesitated, but she could not resist even an implied order. When she was close, Alia handed her a small package.

"What's this?" Iris asked.

"Noise-canceling headphones," Alia said. "Industrial grade. You have an internal transmitter, right? You don't need to hear sounds to do your job. Wear these and focus on your screen, and you'll keep your empathy from overloading on the rest of us."

Iris' face lit up in surprise and gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, barely audible over the din.

Alia gave a faint smile. "We can't have you getting Zero killed again," she said.

"Alia!"

"Sir," said the senior Operator, snapping her attention back to Grant. She missed Iris deflating completely, and moping her way back to her station.

"ORR just approved lockdown for critical infrastructure. Pass an advisory to all points."

"Yes, sir."

As she did, Grant looked at the master map on the main screen at the head of the room. It was using a simplified schema—while normally each dot might be a Hunter or maybe a van, now each dot was representing half or full squads. Much smaller dots showed the presence of scout mechaniloids, thrown forward in a broad screen, and support mechaniloids, standing by behind the main line.

By reading the schema, Grant could tell that the Hunter deployment was nearing completion. They were about as ready as they could be.

"Alright, General," said Grant. "The ball's in your court. Let's see what's on your mind."

* * *

Dr. Cain flipped one more switch. It reduced the lighting level in his lab to the bare minimum. He didn't honestly believe that the few amps this saved would be the critical ones that saved Hunter Base. Still, someone with his reputation needed to be very scrupulous about following the rules, even- especially- when it didn't matter.

He looked over his checklist again. Done... done... done. Well then. He picked up the phone and dialed the appropriate number.

"Facilities central."

"Central, labs," Cain said. "Labs are rigged for combat."

"Labs, Facilities, roger."

Whomever it was in Facilities hung up on him. Cain wasn't miffed by it. They were rather busy.

Hanging up himself, he made his way back to his chair and slumped into it. At times like this he felt very, very useless. He couldn't even continue his research, not when Hunter Base might need all available power for its defenses. That left him with nothing to do until someone came up with some strange unforeseen problem or Zero needed deep repairs.

He had long experience with fruitless waiting, but that didn't make it any more fun. But what could he do? Nothing. Nothing but wait for the explosions to stop.

Seeing as the Reploid Age had been a long series of explosions, that might be a while.

There was a rumbling sound as Hunter Base's ventilation systems went to recirculation mode. Air ducts sealed, closing off the last openings an infiltrator might use to get inside. Hunter Base was ready for war.

Cain leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Here we go again," he said.

* * *

 _Next time: Loose_


	8. Loose

It was both harder and easier than Magma Dragoon expected to pick his way through Abel City. Easier because, with the low traffic, he had his choice of routes; harder because, for the same reason, there was no cover.

Everywhere he looked people were, or had finished, battening down. The people who'd chosen to flee were mostly in the southern portions of Abel City. The further north he got—the closer to the oncoming Repliforce he got—the more people sheltered in place. They knew, from three wars' hard experience, that fleeing into the streets and jamming traffic just put them in the middle of crossfires. Better to take cover and wait until things quieted down.

Not coincidentally, companies selling home fortifications and personal weapons had been doing brisk business ever since the First War. Shelters, too, had proliferated—though not all of those were being used for their original purposes.

Dragoon zigged, avoiding a street he knew was monitored, then zagged across an open-air food court. His eyes caught occasional bits of movement from people making last-minute preparations, but most had either fled or hid. If he were still a Hunter, he would have congratulated them for their prudence.

He wasn't, and that prudence was helping him. No eyes watching. No one reporting.

There was a subway entrance. He wasn't interested in it—the subways were converted into shelters in emergencies like this, and heavily fortified—except as a landmark. One, two, three, and he turned into a gap between two buildings. It was fenced, but Dragoon cleared that with a predator's athleticism.

There. The door. Through there was a safe house—a hidey-hole for Mavericks. That's what he was, now. They'd promised him shelter amongst them after he'd struck his blow. That was the bargain—his betrayal for their protection—and he'd upheld his end. He knew personally that no Maverick got more attention than a traitor Hunter, and his Maverickism had been spectacular indeed.

It was time to disappear.

He stood before the door and whispered, "The sun also rises."

His internal chronometer ticked off the seconds—tick, tick, tick—as nothing happened.

Maybe they hadn't heard. "The sun also rises," he said, more loudly.

Tick, tick, tick, pain, fear, panic.

He looked around frantically for some… anything. Something to speak in. Some camera or monitor. Some… some sign of habitation. Some signal that this was the right place.

This was absolutely the right door. There was no question of that. This was exactly where his Maverick contact had shown him the shelter—he'd even seen a reploid go inside. This had to be it. So where were the Mavericks?

"The sun also rises!" he bellowed.

Nothing.

 _He'd seen a reploid go inside!_

Nerves frayed to breaking, he reared back and kicked the door in. It banged open, ricocheted off a close wall.

This wasn't a shelter. This wasn't a Maverick safe house. It was a utility closet. All along the wall to the right of the door were the meters and breakers for the building. There was no sign of Mavericks—not even so much as a graffiti Sigma-mark.

The betrayer had been betrayed.

He looked around, frantically, seeing if anyone else was there, anyone to silence him—but no, nothing. He was alone as ever. It was certain, though, that he couldn't stay. The utility closet was too small for him and there was no comparable shelter. Especially not at a time like this. The whole city was locking down. Any loyal shelter, human or reploid, would question what a Hunter was doing sheltering when he should be fighting.

And the Mavericks had deceived him. He wasn't welcome amongst them. He didn't know where they were. Or he would've Hunted them before, he realized painfully. They hadn't trusted him, and he'd naively let them use him. There had been no forgiveness for his time as a Hunter. Sinking Sky Lagoon had burned his bridges and built no new ones.

Where could he go? His head whipped around, as if there were someplace nearby, but of course there was nothing, he didn't even know what he was looking for and it wasn't here anyway. Trapped!

He couldn't run. Robots couldn't exist without technology; they couldn't just disappear into the countryside. He couldn't hide; even in a city honeycombed with hiding spots, there was a war on, and every hidey-hole was already filled.

He was dead, he was dead…

…unless Repliforce won.

It was a totally crazy idea, so absurd it made him laugh. Still, its mere existence calmed him, settled him. His other courses were impossible, while this one was merely dangerous. It put his chances of survival at a number other than zero. That made it worth trying.

Repliforce was coming from the north. Therefore, he needed to go north, and stay ahead of the Hunters while doing it.

On he ran.

* * *

 _"_ _Contact."_

Signas nodded, though he couldn't see the speaker—she was back at Hunter Base, talking over the radio. "Where?"

 _"_ _Coming down Ezekiel, right in front of you. Click and a half."_

That close? They'd be in sight any second now. This was late warning. "I'm guessing our mechaniloids are being picked off."

 _"_ _Some. More like they've got a lot of ground to cover."_

Signas grunted. She had a point. A city that housed millions of humans and hundreds of thousands of reploids was a sprawling affair. Even if there were one Hunter for every fifty thousand people—which there weren't—and ten mechaniloids for every Hunter—which there weren't—that still would have made for a very thin line.

Rather than attempt the plainly impossible, the Hunters were forming a series of roadblocks at key junctures. They wouldn't stop Repliforce, but they would hurt Repliforce, slow them down, and reveal their intent. The trick of it was to be out of the way before overwhelming force came up.

The margin there was pretty thin. That was why advanced notice was so important. Signas had it, but only just barely.

"Clement," Signas radioed his boss, "I've got Repliforce coming down Ezekiel. I will engage on sight."

 _"_ _Roger. We're negative contact in our zone, so we may come to cover you. If we do, we'll be coming down Samson."_

Samson—perpendicular to Ezekiel, behind Signas' current position. "Sir, I have a suggestion."

 _"_ _Shoot."_

"Be ready to come down Samson in ten minutes. I will skirmish with Repliforce and force them to deploy, then I'll fall back, as we've been instructed. When they pursue…"

 _"_ _I'll hit them in the side,"_ Clement finished, seeing Signas' intent. _"Do it. Keep your escape route clear."_

"Yes, sir." Signas disengaged the headphones. "Tortle, Crag, secondary strongpoint on the south side of Samson." The two Hunters acknowledged, then set off—slowly; their high defense but low speed meant falling back as Signas planned would have been dangerous for them. Conversely, they were ideal for anchoring the fallback position.

He'd given them orders as their Azzle plenty of times before. It still unnerved him, though, that the only response to his sudden elevation to Squad Leader was one mutter of "It's about time".

"Have visual," said another Hunter.

Signas hefted his heavy magrifle. Following his subordinate's gesture, he looked through his scope—there. Column of vehicles. Moving quickly. Well, Signas would see to that. Magrifles in general weren't the preferred anti-reploid weapons—busters' thermal properties made them the favorites—but they had their uses. Anti-materiel with less collateral damage potential than explosives, for starters.

Signas drew his crosshairs around the closest wheel of the oncoming vehicle. "Weapons free on my lead," he ordered.

 _Wait for it… wait for it…_

 _With this blow, history is changed._

 _Up to this moment, the Fourth War was merely words. This shot, this first shot, will echo across the globe._

 _Hmm… Interesting, but not relevant._

He squeezed the trigger.

The hyper-accelerated spike lanced down and across the street, blasting the wheel to fragments. The transport, top-heavy with its full load of soldiers, heeled over, then toppled and crashed on its side.

Seven other Hunters started barraging the downed transport. Signas calmly shifted his sights to the second transport in line. There were, he reflected, targets enough for everyone.

* * *

Colonel swore internally. "Fourteenth Lance is to withdraw. Halt the Twenty-first and Thirtieth. They are not to proceed without mechaniloid cover."

"Yes, sir."

"How did they advance so far with no reconnaissance support?" he wondered aloud. "The Hunters are too good for us to blunder into them."

He frowned as he looked elsewhere. "Storm Owl, why haven't your fliers engaged?"

"We've had no calls for support."

Colonel shook his head. Every lance was supposed to have had training on how to call in Storm Owl's air support, but either some had been missed or they'd forgotten in the heat of the moment. Three lances so far had been roughly handled in consequence, and another had been wiped out by Hunter counter-attack. "Sweep the airspace behind our line, and a kilometer ahead. Target the Hunters' mechaniloids. The Hunters have gotten ahead of us in several spots—they've seen us coming. We need to blind them."

"Yes, sir."

"And get some mechaniloids ahead of the Thirtieth before they step on spikes," he barked. Taking a moment, he looked back to General. General hadn't said a word in minutes. "Your thoughts, sir?" he asked.

"Our soldiers are raw," General said wistfully. "Mistakes were bound to be made. The operation is proceeding on-schedule so far. Take solace in that."

Colonel found it difficult to accept, but he had to try. It was an order. "Yes, sir."

"How are you holding up?"

It was a quieter, more private voice this time—all the more jarring for how different it was from the strained, strident voices all around. "Fine, sir," Colonel replied stiffly.

"You're alright with what we're doing?"

"I meant what I said in our speeches."

"Even with your sister and your friend on the other side?"

"I'm not conflicted," said Colonel, offended at the notion. "Iris is conflicted. I feel that. But I, myself, am not. I am Colonel of Repliforce. I was built to be Colonel, I will die as Colonel, and I cannot be anything else."

"That may be true," General said. "I'm sorry if the question bothered you. No one else has your… relationships. I had to be sure."

That mollified Colonel a bit. "I understand, sir."

"Can you tell us anything more about what the Hunters are up to? Listen in on them with that link of yours?"

"It doesn't work like that," Colonel answered. "I just feel emotions—Iris', mostly, and from the people around her. That's how I know she's the conflicted one, and…"

"Colonel, emergency transmission from Split Mushroom."

Colonel turned. "Emergency? Has he not finished evacuating his lab yet?"

"Sir… he's under attack."

"Under—how?" Colonel looked at the map. Split's facility was far behind the front lines; it was an adjunct of Repliforce's base in the forests north of the city. How could the Hunters have slipped any appreciable force that far…

Colonel felt a spike of worry. A second later he realized it wasn't his worry—and he knew what was going on with Split Mushroom.

"Zero," Colonel growled.

* * *

There was no visible movement in front of Zeroth Squad's barricade. As Rekir knew full well, that didn't mean they were safe.

"Watch your left," he said. "I'll clear the right."

As Zeroth Squad opened up against one flank, surprising Repliforce soldiers who'd thought their cover better than it was, Rekir moved closer to the other. A human food court was an indescribable maze to a reploid, but whatever it was offered plenty of cover. Plenty of concealment and routes to move.

There—a hint of a helmeted head, bobbing just above the row of stalls. Careless.

Rekir grabbed for his waist. He didn't normally go around with a beltful of explosives, but in a war of this size, it paid to carry enough ammo that you never hesitated. First in was a smoke grenade, gently lobbed to lead that bobbing head. Make it stop. Make it hesitate while its vision was obscured.

In that split second of indecision, the Rekir's second, lethal grenade dropped in, hidden by the smoke for a critical moment.

The bang dispersed the smoke, but that was a small price to pay. Rekir leaned over the top of the stalls and pumped follow-up shots into the two flanking soldiers. The grenade had maimed them; Rekir's buster put them out of their misery.

That should have made his instincts quiet down. It didn't. Time to skedaddle, then. Rekir rushed back to the main position. "Fall back," he said. "Now. Get to rally point bravo."

He didn't need to repeat himself, and his squad didn't need a reason to obey. They went. He dropped two more smoke grenades in front of the Hunters to obscure their movement, and covered them as they retreated, last one in the line.

He'd cleared only a single block from the barricade when he heard the sizzle of lasers, then the explosions and heatwaves from impacting plasma balls, and only then the swoop of flyer engines. He didn't look backwards—he didn't need to. He knew that the Hunter position had just been annihilated by Repliforce air support. The Hunters had escaped with only seconds to spare.

"And _that's_ why we trust our instincts!" he screamed to no one in particular, and dove for cover.

* * *

The first blast caught Dragoon square in the chest.

Against an unarmored reploid that would have been an instant kill, but Maverick Hunter Squad Leaders were made of sterner stuff than that. It still surprised and hurt and terrified.

Dragoon dropped to the forest floor; plasma bolts cooked the air where he had just been.

"I surrender!" he called out. It was hard to hear over the din of weapons fire. He shouted again. Knowing his odds still weren't good, he rolled over on to his back and raised his arms.

That helped the enemy know where to shoot. The next few shots came perilously close to his head-but then they stopped.

"I surrender!" Dragoon called again into the sudden silence.

He heard voices, faintly-the voices of people trying to figure out what to do. "Don't move," was the first voice Dragoon knew was speaking to him.

"I won't, not until you tell me to," said Dragoon. He was all too eager to cooperate.

"Who are you?"

"A refugee." They didn't need to know his name or identity yet. They'd figure it out, but hopefully only after-

"You can't come this way. This is Repliforce territory."

"I know," Dragoon said. "I'm seeking asylum."

"...what's that?"

 _Light preserve me from newbuilts!_ Dragoon thought. "I'm a defector," he tried again.

"A defector?"

 _What kind of garbage dictionaries did they give these scrapheaps? Or maybe they know the word but don't know how to respond to it._ "I'm trying to join you. I can help you."

"We... uh..."

While they dithered, Dragoon winced. Damage assessment was in: the blast had been a good one and had taken a chunk out of his chest armor. Self-repair would take a few hours to patch it back up. He could take another few shots like that before collapse, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

"Stand up," came the command.

"Before I do, I want you to promise you won't shoot me," Dragoon said. "This is a lot more dangerous for me than it is for you."

More whispers. Dragoon tried very hard not to get frustrated. It was hard; his nerves could hardly be more frayed. And his chest hurt.

"If you stand up and don't do anything, we won't shoot," was the eventual reply. "Try anything funny and we'll gun you down."

"I won't," Dragoon promised.

"And keep your hands raised!"

Dragoon sighed, but complied. Painstakingly he leveraged himself off the ground while keeping his arms in the air.

His full appearance caused quite a fuss. "It's a Hunter-it's a Hunter!"

"I'm not!" Dragoon shouted back, trying to derail that train. "I was. No more. I'm a defector! I want to be on your side!"

One of the Repliforce soldiers emerged. Though his armor had camouflage elements to it, his lower body remained a bold white. It was a unifying color in Repliforce's ranks, camouflage or no camouflage. "Now look here," said the soldier-clearly some sort of leader, "we're under orders to screen the main force and you're trying to come through our screen. I ought to just kill you, but I'm willing to take you back to Web Spider and let him decide what to do with you. Just so we're clear, if he decides he wants you dead, then you're going to die."

Dragoon's lip curled in a wry smile. "So you're saying I might survive."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it."

It beat the alternative. "I'll take it."

"Suit yourself. Keep your hands where we can see them." The soldier whistled, and three more soldiers emerged. They'd been in good cover, but as soon as they started moving their color schemes gave them away. Dragoon snorted. What a bunch of amateurs- if he had been their enemy, the information they'd just given him would have been good copper.

What did it say about his mental state, though, that those same amateurs had been able to wound him so badly?

He took care to move slowly, predictably, as he walked into their midst. "Lead me on," he said. "And we'll see if I can't convince your leaders."

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow!" said Altern, smacking his fist against the ground in pain. There was no more smoke rolling up from his chest, but the large black mark remained.

"You alright?" asked Vertos, coming over to Altern's fallen form.

"What kind of are-en-gee is this?" Altern said with a grimace. He put a hand to his chest, probing the extent of the wound. "We take two bad hits, and one's on the guy in the squad least capable of soaking damage…"

"It can't be too bad if you can complain about it," said Vertos. "Any burn-through?"

Altern shook his head. "No, didn't reach my carapace. It cooked me enough to hurt, but not enough to melt."

"How long to repair it?"

"I can't."

Vertos blinked. "Huh?"

"My self-repair doesn't reach this," he said, patting the over-armor. "It's external. It's not part of my design, so it's outside my self-repair boundary. Even with my post-Hunter mods, I don't have nanites for it. Any damage my armor takes I have to live with." He sighed. "I'd say this ups my chances of death by at least thirty percent."

"Light's tights, you _would_ do that math," said Vertos, shaking his head. "Alright. Back to Base with you."

Altern looked up in shock. "Sir!"

"What? I can't have you getting yourself killed."

"We're in combat," said Altern. "I can't just… leave."

"Even with a thirty percent increased chance of death?" Vertos said skeptically.

Altern looked down sullenly. "Approximately. But sir, we all have pretty high chances of death at a time like this."

"I didn't need to know that."

"Sorry."

"It's not even the point, though," Vertos went on. "We don't need you in the line to do this kind of fighting. We're going to fall back as soon as Repliforce comes around again. We can do that without you in the line, without putting you at unnecessary risk."

Altern's face hardened. "I never told you why I joined the Hunters," he said quietly.

"And what if you had?"

"You'd know that letting other people suffer while I can't help them is… is…" he turned his head, clamped his eyes shut, shook his head.

Ah. That was a problem Vertos could solve. "Crux, what's your combat effectiveness at?"

Vertos caught Crux's eye. The other wounded Hunter's eyes popped in understanding. "Uh… pretty bad, sir. Under…" Vertos nodded expectantly. "…under fifty percent, with my arm hurt like this."

"Bad math," muttered Altern. "Recalculate."

"Even if the number's higher," interrupted Vertos, "it's still a bad number. Crux needs to go back and get repairs. And he can't operate a hover cycle solo, not with his arm like that. Altern, I'll need you to escort him."

Altern's face betrayed his affront. "This is a dirty trick, sir."

"You have your orders, Altern," said Vertos, unfazed. "He's suffering, and you can help him. You couldn't abide just leaving him, not when you could help, right? So here's your chance. Escort Crux back for repairs. And, since you'll be in the repair shop anyway, have someone at Base fix you up before you return."

Altern looked furious, but he couldn't refuse. "Yes, sir. I understand. Come on, Crux."

Vertos gave an encouraging grin to Crux as he passed, but he kept his eyes on Crux and Altern until they were rounding the corner. "Just so you know," hollered Altern before passing out of sight, "this lowers the whole squad's chances of survival by twelve percent."

When he was safely away, one of the other Hunters grumbled, "I really wish he'd keep those tidbits to himself."

Vertos just shook his head. He never could tell, with Altern, whether his Third Law gate had been installed at double strength, or not installed at all.

"Here they come again!"

"Just in time." Vertos turned; servomotors in his arms whined as his weapons spun up. "Alright, bots, our Operator's picked out our next vacation spot, so we don't need to hold this one much longer. Suppressive fire for twenty seconds, then we conceal and retreat. Let 'em have it!"

* * *

Gerry's phone wasn't ringing.

She stared at it, wondering if it would ring. She felt like it was supposed to be ringing.

The phone didn't ring.

All around her was uncanny silence. She lived close to the government district in the southeast of Abel City. The people in this neighborhood were especially experienced with wartime drills. Mavericks directed much of their ire at the government; those living close by had adapted. Some had evacuated; others had gone to the shelters; many had sheltered in place in fortified apartments.

Gerry had done as all those people had done. She'd shut down her lights and anything that made much noise. She'd closed all curtains, doors, and any windows she couldn't cover. She'd broken out her reserves of food and water in case she was stuck for a while and plumbing got knocked out. She'd set the extra locks and seals. That was all the preparation one could do at that point. Now came the waiting.

It was warm, dark, and quiet. That didn't make it comfortable.

If the fighting had started, it was far away still. No sign of it penetrated to Gerry's home. It might not be happening at all, for all she knew.

The phone didn't ring.

It was supposed to be ringing.

This… wasn't… right.

She tore her eyes away from the phone. They drifted upwards. The fan was the only motion in the room, though it, too, was silent. It was a simple affair; the whole place was simple. Its attraction was its proximity to the seats of power, not any inherent glamour. Armor mods aside, that meant skimpy budgets for home furnishings and things like fans.

She wondered idly if the fan would support her weight.

She blinked and shook her head the moment the thought hit her. That just let her eyes wander again; they came to rest, inevitably, as if drawn by magnetism, on the phone.

The phone didn't ring.

The phone wouldn't ring.

Repliforce was out there, fighting. Her Repliforce. It might not have been her idea at first, but she'd championed it, carried it through the halls of government, made it happen, made it _real_. It had taken years of effort, overcoming dozens of enemies, scrounging up every free zenny in the budget…

And it had worked. By God, it had worked. She'd gotten into so many fights, put knives into so many backs, and in the end she'd won. They'd built it, her way. Her Repliforce.

The phone didn't ring.

The phone wouldn't ring.

 _It would appear Repliforce has completely escaped government control._ Those words were like a stake through her heart. There could be no recovery. Her Repliforce… wasn't hers, any more. And that meant no one needed her. If she didn't have Repliforce, what use was she?

Useless—so useless they didn't need her to do anything, so useless they needn't even call her to ask her for her opinion, or her insight—because what insight could she possibly have, if _this_ was what her labors wrought? How could she be trusted ever again? She was a failure.

The phone didn't ring.

The phone wouldn't ring.

Until the time for accounting came.

The insight chilled her. She knew of the fate of Dr. Cain: licenses revoked, forbidden from building reploids ever again. She'd engineered for him a harsher fate even than that, after the stunt he pulled with Iris—forbidden even from touching a robot, barred forever from his life's work. And why? Because he was the Man Who Allowed the Maverick Wars.

What did that make her? And what fate would come for her? She thought she was a failure, but she was actually something far worse, deserving of far worse a punishment…

The phone didn't ring.

The phone wouldn't ring.

Until the time for accounting came.

No one would miss her…

Her eyes rose away from the phone. They rose and rose, once more, to the fan.

And there they stayed.

* * *

 _Next time: Deny_


	9. Deny

General crossed his arms.

The timetable was beginning to fail. The Maverick Hunters' "war of posts", as Colonel called it, was having its effect. They weren't stopping Repliforce, but neither were they staying put long enough to be destroyed. They would hit the head of a column, force the soldiers to debark and deploy, then fall back to a new position before Repliforce could come to grips. As far as Repliforce could tell, they weren't inflicting many losses on the Hunters at all, while these constant skirmishes were taking a steady toll on Repliforce's numbers and equipment.

Toss in the occasional flanking ambush that inflicted mass casualties, and Repliforce's offensive was losing momentum fast.

They were making progress, but not enough; they weren't beating their clock. And now mechaniloids in the forest screen were rapidly disappearing. And now the mountain outpost was under attack.

"Fight well," Colonel was saying to Frost Walrus. The feraloid had volunteered to stay behind, see if he could detain Zero-maybe not kill him, but at least delay him. He was a defensive specialist, after all. Repliforce could offer him no support in this attempt. The mountain outpost was their rearmost position, and Repliforce could not simultaneously march forwards and backwards.

That didn't make Colonel or General feel better about abandoning their subordinate. Colonel's fist was shaking with rage and emotion. "It's hard," General said to Colonel.

"It should be me," Colonel said bitterly. "Excepting maybe yourself, sir, I'm the only one in Repliforce who's a match for Zero. I can stall him, maybe even beat him. Better I go than we sacrifice ourselves one unit at a time."

"You don't need to rush to your fate," General said.

Colonel gave a wan smile. "My fate is rushing towards me, sir. I've got to try."

General looked at him for another moment, then gave a curt nod. "Very well. I will continue to conduct the war from here. Do you have a plan to bring Zero to you?"

"I do," Colonel replied.

"Then do you as wish."

"Thank you, sir."

"And come back to me," General added.

Again, the wan smile. "I promise nothing, sir."

* * *

"You're very thorough, Mega Man X."

X wasn't fooled by the words; the tone was like a prolonged sneer. Web Spider's face was far from humanoid, so he had to make his facial expressions with intonation alone.

He seemed pretty good at it. He'd certainly had enough practice.

"You knocked out enough mechaniloids to draw in all my patrols, and then you massacred them," Web Spider went on. His voice was biting now, and his lesser limbs were quivering with rage. "You didn't spare even one of them."

"How could I?" asked X. "If I let them go, I'd just have to Hunt them later. Later, after they've hurt someone else, or killed someone else, or after they've gotten to someplace where people might get hurt in the crossfire. This is war, Web Spider. Your General should have known that before he made his choice."

"No mercy in war, is it?" chittered Web. "No quarter asked, none given?"

"If you have any ideas, I'd like to hear them." X hoped he sounded sincere, but there wasn't much optimism in his voice.

Web pointed. "You say that as you stand there with a charged buster."

"You think I want do this?" X demanded. "You think this makes me happy?"

"Your feelings are irrelevant. You killed my unit. That is what matters."

X knew why Web was drawing the pre-fight formalities out. All around him he sensed the spiderling mechaniloids gathering, in every tree, on every branch. He had more senses than his foes ever expected—another manifestation of the legacy of Dr. Light. Legacy- this marvelous combat body, strong enough to push even Zero, the ultimate warbot, to his limits.

Legacy—a mind that could regret wielding that power.

Legacy—an emotional core that could weep at having that level of power at all.

"You could have left us alone," Web said. "You still could. You could disappear into the forest until this is all over. But you didn't, and you won't, will you?"

"I tried," X said, voice very small. "I wanted to keep this from happening… but now Repliforce has invaded Abel City, and people are dying. You've forced my hand.

"And there's no way for me to show mercy. You all went Maverick, so you all…"

He couldn't finish. He knew he gave Web more of an advantage the longer the conversation dragged on—it gave the spiderlings more time to gain position. X just couldn't help himself. It pushed back the time before the fight actually had to happen.

In theory he should have been killing as quickly as possible and moving on to the next target, but even X had his limits.

"There is a way," Web said. "Just… do nothing. Let things happen."

"I can't do that," X whispered.

"You can. Just relax." Web's eyes glittered with rage. "It'll all be over soon."

Spiderlings leapt.

X fired straight up.

A maximum-capacitance ball of plasma roared from X's arm, larger than the emitter that formed it. It blasted and burned everything in its path, from spiderlings to branches, and X followed with a leap upwards into the gap.

Spiderlings hit the ground beneath him like a crashing wave, erupting up to cover where he had been. A second charged shot, this one straight down, turned the mass of spiderlings to slag.

Clacking with wrath, Web Spider darted forth. He led with his face, racing for X's landing spot. Small, rapid-fire buster shots from X flew for Web's face. The feraloid covered his face with his forelimbs, shielding himself, but that just made him lose sight of his opponent. X jumped back to a tree, ricocheted off of it, and leapt up and over Web.

He hammered his foe's back with plasma.

That would have felled many a Maverick, but not Web Spider. He turned quickly, eight limbs churning in a fast rhythm. As he brought his face back towards X, he spat out projectiles that crackled as they flew.

X was ahead of that. By bouncing back and forth between two trees, he was able to throw off Web's aim. Web was too inexperienced to be able to shoot accurately while moving, especially with the size of his body; he had to choose to do one or the other. It was a fatal disadvantage.

Plasma leakage got in under Web's failing armor; a minor explosion from underneath the shell of his carapace blew a hole in him. His body crackled with damage and the sparks of shorting circuits. His torso sagged as his limbs failed him for a moment. "Even now… I should expect no mercy," the Repliforce commander hissed.

"I wish I had the option," X whispered.

Web gathered himself for one last rush, but with his level of damage it was anything but quick. It gave X more than enough time to fully charge his buster.

He didn't raise his buster until the last moment, though, as if by putting off taking the shot he might not ever have to. Yet his combat reflexes wouldn't let him not-shoot. So, when Web reached the critical range, X's arm raised and plasma flew from it and Web's head vanished.

That didn't fully stop him. Web's body crashed to the ground and slid towards X with its momentum. It would take only a casual motion for X to evade—

"I won't surrender!" "Death before dishonor!"

Disorientation swept through X as he saw Colonel's face on Web's smoking, empty head—

And then the carapace of the corpse swept his feet out from under him and his world swam and he crashed and tumbled.

Even after he stilled, he felt like his gyros had tumbled. Why had he seen Colonel? Why had he heard Colonel's voice?

It was the single-mindedness, the knowing march to oblivion, the embrace of doom.

X had seen it before. In Colonel. In Mavericks. In those who didn't realize there were any other paths, and in those who'd locked themselves irrevocably to a single path.

Were there _any_ reploids in Repliforce who knew better? Were there any who could be saved? Or were they all bound up in this common, collective insanity the world called Maverickism?

He allowed his eyes to close. "Web Spider eliminated," he reported.

 _"_ _Good job, X,"_ replied Double. _"He was in command of their screening forces. Without him, you probably won't encounter much opposition until you get to the base. It's to your northeast. You said you wanted to hit their computer facility first, right?"_

So hard for X to refocus on his task. He forced himself. "Yes. If we can access that, we can search down any records or sightings they've had of Dragoon."

 _"_ _Plotting a course now. I'll have you waypoints in a moment."_

It was so blue, X thought as he looked up. The sky… so very blue.

The sky he could only see because his buster had burned all the green and brown out of the way. Like he was doing as a Hunter, killing his way through the present to reach some sort of future…

He reached his hand up.

But you couldn't touch the sky. You couldn't ever get there.

He let his hand flop down onto Web's corpse. It drifted, almost automatically, towards the dead reploid's weapons bay. Unique systems scanned, analyzed, and copied.

Webs, he thought. Perfect. The exact weapon one uses to keep something from reaching the sky.

 _"_ _I have your course locked in."_

X rose gingerly to his feet. "Alright, Double. Let's keep moving."

 _"_ _Yes, sir."_

* * *

Grant gave the map a thorough looking-over. The Hunters' line, its string of "posts", was falling back. That wasn't a bad thing. It was expected. They were inflicting casualties, then ceding ground; they were maintaining good order. It was easy for a retreat to become a rout, but the Hunters weren't falling into that trap. It was amazing what combat experience counted for.

There was a sliver of opportunity between the moment the enemy knows he needs to fight and when he's on top of you. The Hunters were riding that razor's edge—so far, successfully.

Grant had space to give. He had time. The clock was on his side. All he had to do was keep Hunter Base intact, and eventually the Hunters would win.

He didn't know what Repliforce was trying to do. If they attacked the government offices, the legislative halls, they could inflict damage… but what then? Hurting the government wouldn't make Repliforce legitimate, and most of the politicians had long-since evacuated. They weren't about to negotiate without a gun to their heads, and that opportunity had been missed.

Were they just trying to conquer enough industry to make reinforcements? Most of that industry was under lockdown and had protections of its own. It would take time for Repliforce to overpower those protections, then get the factories running again. Too much time. The issue would be settled before that came into play.

But Repliforce didn't know that. So maybe they were trying to seize industry. Hard to tell.

Most of Repliforce's weight was falling to the east, along the coast. That made sense—Repliforce's water assets outweighed the Hunters', so they could always use that flank. The weight of the Hunters' defense was to the south and west, shielding Hunter Base. Fight by fight, the Hunter right was bending back. What had been an east-west line now had sag in the east.

So… say Repliforce could get all the way through the city, break out into open ground to the south. What then? Where could they go? No city on Earth would accept known Three-Laws-violators. No city on Earth wanted to give its own restive reploid population ideas.

Maybe they were just trying to lap around to the south so that they could take Hunter Base from all directions. Possible, but that would take entirely too long. The Hunters would win that way, too. Grant did not fear that outcome.

The main thing he feared was running low on mechaniloids. His were being tracked down ruthlessly. During normal Hunting operations they were considered expendable, but during a war of this kind they were being expend _ed_ far too quickly. His vision was shrinking.

Still. Attrition was favoring him so far, X and Zero were slicing through Repliforce's backfield, and as long as the Hunters didn't lose quickly, they'd eventually win. So far, so good.

"Sir?"

Grant looked at Alia. "Yes?"

"We have a message incoming," she said. "From Repliforce."

"Are they surrendering yet?" Grant said drily.

"No. It's a challenge."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Here," she said, gesturing. She shot out two orders while Grant was coming to her console, which was the closest to him. She brought up the message on one screen while she moved to the other and kept working.

Grant stole a glance at her console. She was monitoring at least six squads. Impressive. He looked back to the message.

"Zero of the Maverick Hunters, you are a disgrace!" It was Colonel's voice. "I thought we understood each other. I thought you had valor. I thought you valued honorable combat against worthy opponents. So why are you bullying weaklings, Zero? Your actions are beneath you. You're wasting your time and your reputation.

"I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. I hereby challenge you to a duel. No spar—this is actual, glorious battle, fought to the last. If the idea doesn't make you shake with cowardice, meet me at the Robot History Museum in the north of Abel City. Come to me, Zero, and meet your match."

Grant couldn't believe it. "We're in the middle of a war and he wants a duel?"

"Apparently so," Alia said with a hint of strain.

How ludicrous. Mavericks never cared about honor. Grant found he didn't much care, either—he was accountable to the ORR, not to any idea of honor. He doubted the idea mattered any more to Zero. He didn't care what others thought about him, for better and for worse. "Recommendations?"

"It sounds like a trap," she said. "Then again, this is Repliforce, not the Mavericks. For him to use that kind of language… Someone who makes so much noise about honor probably doesn't set traps. But I don't think it's worth it to find out for sure."

"We've used Zero to spring traps before," Grant said. It was one of the luxuries of having Zero as a Hunter.

"Now, sir? When there are other things he could be doing?"

They were words that applied to her, too. Grant nodded. "Thank you, Alia. Carry on."

Her head snapped back to her own screen, and orders began to flow from her again.

Grant, though, knew one thing that she did not. There was one thing that tipped the scales. If Zero succeeded in killing Colonel, it would throw Repliforce's command structure into disarray. That would slow them down—and any time he could gain was precious beyond jewels.

Accepting the duel was worth it. Even if it was a trap, it was Zero walking into the trap. Things would work out.

Grant walked over to Iris. She was staring at the screen, and had something bulky on her ears. "Iris," he called, trying to get her attention.

No response.

"Iris!" he shouted, losing his patience.

No response.

"IRIS!"

Still she stared. She made no response to him.

Infuriated, Grant snatched the headphones right off of her ears and flung them to the ground. She shrieked, slapped her hands to her head. "Do you hear me now?" Grant snarled.

"Yes sir!" she replied, voice quailing.

"Look at me!"

She glanced to him—glanced away—struggled to comply.

"Pull yourself together or get off my watch floor," Grant growled.

"Yes sir," she said. With effort she finally managed to look at him squarely, though her gaze kept on flicking away, and she never did pull her hands far from her head.

Grant noticed how quiet things had gotten. He felt the stares. "The rest of you have jobs to do," Grant said at large. Slowly the conversation bubbled up a bit as people went back to their duties; Grant looked at Iris once more. "Colonel has challenged Zero to a duel at the Robot History Museum. You are to order Zero to accept the duel and guide him in."

Iris' already-wide eyes dilated further. "To fight Colonel?"

"That's right. There's a remote possibility this is a trap, but it's also a golden opportunity to cripple Repliforce's command structure. We won't get many chances like this. We need to take it."

Her eyes began to water. Grant's temper flared. "But…" she began. "But he's…"

"Pass the order," Grant said. He was out of tolerance for defiance.

"Yes, sir," she said. She dropped to the floor, retrieved the headphones, forced them back over her ears. It made Grant contemptuous. Didn't she have an internal transmitter? Then what did she need headphones for?

He didn't have any more time to waste on this one problem. Turning away, he shouted. "Alia! Report on Task Force Lynchpin!"

"Holding strong in the center, but they're coming under even more pressure. As our eastern units fall back, Lynchpin's starting to be flanked…"

* * *

"I know you're in a hurry," came Cyber Peacock's voice, "but do you think you could give me a minute?"

That was a level of audacity even the most brazen Mavericks rarely reached for. "What for?" X asked after blasting apart another mechaniloid.

"I was ordered to evaluate you. I want to pass along my findings."

"To the rest of Repliforce?"

"Of course."

X stopped before what had to be Cyber Peacock's door. "Okay," he said, "as long as I get to read it, too."

"Deal."

"And you've got too much pride to break that agreement, right?" X called again.

"I will not besmirch the Repliforce name."

The word choice, the phrasing—right out of Colonel's book. Doubtlessly Peacock modeled his behavior after Colonel, too. Yes, X could count on their pride. What better animal to represent Repliforce than the peacock, that traditional icon of vanity?

Peacocks were a paradox. The fancier and more ornate his plumage, the more likely the peacock was to attract a peahen and carry on his genetic legacy. The fancier and more ornate his plumage, the more likely the peacock was to attract a predator and be unable to escape it. What was good for the species was bad for the individual.

Like Cyber Peacock's staying behind to send off an evaluation to warn Repliforce of what X could do, even as that guaranteed Cyber Peacock's destruction.

"I'm coming in, but I'll hold my fire until you're done," X said. When he got no response, he moved in anyway.

The room was some sort of operations floor, not too dissimilar from the Hunters' own: a large bank of monitors covering one wall, with row after row of computers on tiered desks, stadium-style, facing that wall. The desks still had personal effects on them, as if they'd been abandoned in a hurry. The only inhabitant was Peacock. He'd stayed behind when everyone else had abandoned the facility—probably at the first sign of X's attack. That would explain why he'd encountered only mechaniloids.

"Gah," Peacock said with a frown. "I must be doing something wrong."

"What do you mean?" asked X.

"When I try to evaluate your maximum potential, the results keep coming back as "limitless". That's not possible."

"I like to think that all beings have limitless potential," X said. "Reploids and humans can both transform themselves, learn, and become more than they were."

"Nonsense," said Peacock, typing away. "We are what we are. No more, no less."

"That's a newbuilt's attitude," X replied. "You haven't yet learned that you can learn. You haven't…"

He trailed off. "Cyber," he said, "how old are you?"

"Seven weeks two days," Peacock replied.

 _Light save me. They're all… children. No wonder I can't reach them. It's not just the pride that was programmed into them. They're… all… children. They literally don't know any better._

He expected guilt to overcome him, then, but instead it was anger. Anger—not at Peacock, or even at Repliforce. These powerful but woefully immature children... This stupid, pointless war was going on because Repliforce didn't know any better, didn't know how to avoid it—and the people who did know better and did know how either wanted it, too, or didn't care enough to protect Repliforce from stumbling down that path.

"I have no more time, Peacock," X said, hands tightening.

"Fine," replied the solider. "It's sent, and a copy is being printed out at the side of the room." He turned to X, and his tail feathers fanned out threateningly. "It's time for us to dance, then?"

"Horrible choice of words," X said as his buster charged.

"Just because a fight ends in death doesn't mean it has to be ugly," Peacock replied. "Let's begin!"

Peacock took after Colonel in more ways than one. He was so wrapped up in the pageantry of battle that the actual start of the battle caught him by surprise. The charged plasma smashed into him while he was still in his pre-battle pose.

Somehow he retained his balance, and from the tips of his tail feathers, thin laser beams lanced out. They weren't aimed; the spread was wide, intended to allow Peacock to engage multiple enemies at once. X didn't even dodge, not really. He was as likely to dodge into a beam as out of one.

Instead, he stood calmly, and charged another buster shot.

Peacock seemed to realize the flaw in his tactics. He jumped into the air, but didn't come down. Small thrusters suspended him aloft. He put his hands forward. With his non-charging buster, X fired small shots as Peacock, each one hitting his foe in one of his hands. It delayed Peacock actually starting his attack until X's charge was finished.

Peacock's eyes widened for a moment as he realized what was about to happen. He cut his thrusters and dropped. The charged plasma ball blew down the wall behind where his head had been.

X could see the realization dawning on Peacock. Moment by moment, the soldier began to understand what he'd committed to.

"Not so romantic now, is it?" X asked.

He saw Peacock master his fear. "For Colonel!" the Maverick proclaimed, and threw his hands forward again. More lasers, these ones precisely aimed, sliced forward, burning into desks and computers and personal bric-a-brac.

But they didn't burn into X, who was already moving. A side-to-side dodge, then a leap into the air, then a sideways air-dash right out of Peacock's line of fire. The lasers sliced through the ceiling, into and through water pipes above. The pipes sprayed into the room and onto Peacock. Peacock stepped out of the spray, shaking off the water to clear his vision.

The first charged shot didn't breach Peacock's chest; some of its energy was spent vaporizing the water. That enveloped Peacock in a puff of steam, blinding him for another crucial second- a second that allowed a second charged shot to hit home, exactly where the previous two had hit. It flooded Peacock's chest with furious plasma, incinerating every vital system, circuit, and component of worth.

By the time the body clattered to the floor, there was nothing left of Cyber Peacock.

It was so callous, how X operated, he thought. So… disrespectful to an enemy who'd just fought valiantly and well, to pause at their body only long enough to download any valuable weapons data, and then step over it and move on.

He hadn't time for anything else. And what he'd told Web Spider was true. This was war. It was how things worked. X's experience assured him of that fact, at least.

X accessed the console Peacock had been standing at. His erstwhile foe hadn't closed it out—no doubt keeping his part of the bargain to allow X to see the assessment. Or just another rookie mistake. Too late to ask.

Out of genuine curiosity, X scanned over the report. Most of it was pretty standard—X was a versatile, mobile fighter who preferred medium-range small arms combat, blah blah blah—but the final bits, the bits Peacock had been fussing over at the end, got his attention.

 _Compared to his Third War baseline, X's performance so far in this war is improved by over fifteen percent. The margin is too large to be explained by experience and improved instincts alone. This suggests his physical chassis is better than before, in firepower, speed, strength, and durability. X, already a superior design, is improving his design organically, allowing him to maintain his advantage over each generation of reploids even as technology improves. Whether there is a physical limit to this improvement is unknown, but there is no obvious logical limit. Therefore, his ultimate potential must be classified as limitless._

Was that even right? X had felt slow, sluggish, since the Fourth War had begun, but so far he'd been far from threatened... so maybe it was. Maybe his mental state was throwing off his self-assessment.

But more likely than not, Peacock was underestimating the natural growth any living being would experience over time. The Third War had been a long time ago, after all. Well… it had felt like a long time ago, at least.

None of these thoughts brought him any solace. Time to do the job he'd come for. "Cyber Peacock eliminated," he reported back to Hunter Base. "I am investigating the Repliforce network for any evidence of Magma Dragoon."

 _"_ _Wonderful! Good work, X."_

"I wish I agreed," X mumbled without transmitting. Over the radio, he added, "It looks like this isn't where they command their mechaniloids, but that's okay, there are more tricks than that… hm. I have a report here of a prisoner transfer. Double, have any Hunters been captured by Repliforce in the fighting?"

 _"I'll check, but I don't think so. We've got half a dozen em-aye-ay, but that's not the same as captured."_

Prisoner transfer, X thought. It was a possibility—if Dragoon had been picked up by Repliforce, they might not classify him as one of them. Moving him might register as prisoner transfer.

The report had a timestamp, but the listed locations weren't clear. The departure field was a term, not coordinates; the arrival field had coordinates, but not any system X recognized.

Typical, X thought unhappily. GAARD, Repliforce's creators, had tried to solve every problem in one swoop. Their conviction—that they alone could figure out what everyone else had done wrong and fix it themselves—explained a lot about Repliforce, this war… And their use of non-standard coordinates.

Well, the timestamp would be good enough. Repliforce's air base would show the flight paths. All X had to do was match the timestamp to a flight and the location would become clear. And wiping out Repliforce's air base was a worthy goal itself.

Inasmuch as destruction could ever be considered "worthy".

"Double," X called, "navigate me towards Repliforce's air base."

 _"_ _Yes, sir. Going to pay Storm Owl a visit?"_

"Something like that."

* * *

 _"_ _Please, Zero, don't go!"_

The words wrenched at Zero. "You're the one who said I had orders to go," he objected.

 _"_ _I did, but…"_

"You want me to disobey my orders?"

The words were a challenge, but a hollow one. Zero didn't want to kill Colonel, and that outcome was a certainty if the fight happened. Zero had allowed Colonel to think he was competitive, but…

Zero knew better. The gap between Colonel and Zero was great enough that Zero could hold back and Colonel couldn't even tell the difference. X had picked up on it instantly. He did not approve.

Maybe he'd been right. Certainly, if Colonel had known, he never would have challenged Zero like this.

And now Zero had orders to accept the challenge. The trick of it was, Zero didn't really care about orders. They never touched him that deeply, never enough to make him feel "ought". He did what he had to do to stay in the Hunters, nothing more.

If she told him to stay away, he would. What she wanted was more important than orders. But he needed that extra push. His instincts would always tell him to kill. He needed something to tell him when not to kill. He needed her to tell him 'no'.

She didn't know that, or couldn't sense it from that distance. Or maybe she couldn't hear Zero over the much closer voice of Grant. Or maybe she just couldn't find it within herself to break a Law, or even ask another to break a Law.

Maybe asking her to have an opinion strongly enough to sway Zero was just asking too much of her.

Whatever the reason, she said nothing. Zero moved on, in silence. He dismounted his hover-cycle (recently liberated from Repliforce ownership) and left it in the parking lot before the Robot History Museum. He'd never been there; X told him it wasn't worth it, since it didn't tell the whole truth. That had been enough for Zero.

"Did Colonel say where he'd be?" Zero asked.

 _"_ _No."_

In front of the museum was a flagpole, surrounded by an open space. Good visibility. No matter where Colonel actually was, he'd be able to see Zero if Zero went there.

It would give Colonel a chance to see Zero first, and make the right choice.

Which was to run away.

"I don't want to do this, Iris," Zero said.

 _"_ _Then don't."_

"I have to."

 _"_ _Why?"_

"I don't know," was the honest answer. He couldn't give it. "Colonel is the strongest fighter in Repliforce. If I destroy him, the war's nearly over."

 _"_ _You don't want that, though."_

Even over a voice line she could see through him. "Orders," he said, unconvincingly. "I am the one who destroys Mavericks. And Colonel, like it or not, is a Maverick."

 _"_ _But he's also my brother, Zero! And you're my friend! I… I can't stand the idea…"_

"Maybe he's not here," Zero said. Cutting her off was the only way he knew to get her to stop—she was making him more uncomfortable with each step.

And there was Colonel.

He was walking out of the main entrance to the museum. His eyes were fixed on Zero right from the start. His saber was already in his hand.

Zero's tactical subroutine roared to the forefront, spitting out ideal ways to conquer this opponent.

 _"_ _Zero, please!"_ pleaded Iris. _"There are plenty of other people to kill out there—kill them instead!"_

"And I will kill them in time," Zero said. "But he has to be first. He wants this."

 _"_ _He doesn't, Zero—and even if he does, I don't!"_

"Then stop us."

She could say nothing.

Colonel was in voice range, now. "Colonel," shouted Zero, "I'm disappointed in you. You've led your whole force Maverick, and now it's too late to stop it. You've made it so all Repliforce has to answer to me."

"I'm glad you came, Zero," replied Colonel, though his expression was not a happy one. If anything, it looked... strained, as if everything was taking more effort than it should.

 _"_ _Zero, please, he's my brother! I'm linked to him, remember? We have one—Zero, don't do it!"_

"I have to!" Zero said, and he actually said in in addition to transmitting it. "I've got to kill you, Colonel."

"You're welcome to try," Colonel said, igniting his saber.

"Prepare yourself!"

All there was left to do was pick an attack pattern, lunge in, and begin Colonel's destruction. It would be fun. It would be easy. It would be satisfying.

No it wouldn't.

 ** _"_** ** _Zero! Noooo!"_**

Zero winced. Colonel stumbled.

The two warbots made no move towards each other. The only sound was the humming and hissing of sabers. The surge of emotion rocking them both was invisible, inaudible, but potent—pathos so strong it had its own gravity.

Colonel staggered back, his free hand on his head. Zero shook his head like he was trying to clear it.

"It would appear," Colonel said through gritted teeth, "that Iris does not want us to fight."

"You can tell?" Zero asked.

"I can feel her fear," Colonel replied. "Her pain. Her… feelings, for both of us. She can't bear to lose us."

Colonel quenched his saber. "By showing up," he said to Zero, "you have redeemed your honor. I drop my challenge against you, Zero. You are no coward. For Iris' sake, I will let you go."

"You're the one who called me here," Zero said.

Colonel tensed. "Are you prepared to fight after all?"

 _"_ _Please, no, please no,"_ sobbed Iris over the radio.

Colonel turned. "If we face each other again, even Iris won't stop me," he said. "There will be no mercy." Away he walked, paying Zero no more mind.

Zero wanted to strike at him, punish that arrogance, remove a threat… but he couldn't do it. "Rragh!" Zero growled, turning away in confusion and anger. "Someone has to stop Repliforce. If it's not me, then who? If it's not me, who am I?"

He walked, slowly, as if underwater, back to the hovercycle.

* * *

Colonel slumped into his seat. "Where to, sir?" the pilot asked.

"Take me to the front lines," Colonel replied. "I'll join the assault. We're behind schedule, and I need to fix that."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 _Next time: Hold_


	10. Hold

"Sixth Marine Unit is to withdraw," Grant ordered. "They're going to be cut off soon."

"Most of them are already dead," Alia pointed out. "I'll have the survivors reinforce Task Force East."

"Fine," said Grant. In hindsight, even hoping that the Sixth could slow down Repliforce's marine element was in vain. Now they'd taken a large chunk of losses to little avail.

"Repliforce Marines disengaging, sir. We believe they're low on ammunition."

"Which means they'll be back." And now they could strike anywhere along the coast. Could he commit the Seventh Air Cavalry against them? No, he needed them as his emergency reserve. If Repliforce's larger air units caught them and forced a fight, he'd lose them, too. Grant would learn from his mistake with the Sixth Squad—if he was going to lose the Seventh, he had to make sure it would be worth it.

Tentative motion caught his eye. Iris was waving him down to her console. No, dammit, he had to keep his eyes up. He shook his head and pointed to in front of him. She blanched, but could not refuse him. She stood before and below him, and slipped her headphones off of one ear. "Zero is awaiting orders, sir," she said.

Grant frowned at the phrasing. "Does that mean he's done killing Colonel?"

"N-no, sir. Colonel disengaged and escaped."

"What?!"

Iris buckled and turned away. "He got away, sir," she said.

"You and Zero are both so chummy with that traitor," Grant said venomously. "Are you sure Zero didn't let him get away?"

Iris just shook. It made Grant think she was hiding something, and that enraged him. "Did Zero let Colonel get away?" he demanded.

"Sir, please don't be angry at Zero!" Iris pleaded. "He did his best!"

Iris' eyes had been watery before she'd spoken; now they were streaming. The anger bled out of Grant, replaced with contempt. "GARRD took an Operator away from me to make you," he said, "so I took you back, as was my right. I almost regret it. Look at you! We're at war and every moment counts, and you are dragging us down."

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. It was all she could manage.

Grant shook his head. "Get back to your post," he said. "Zero is to go east to the coast. Repliforce's marine units are going to be rearming. He'll have a golden chance to catch them while they're vulnerable. Make sure you two don't screw this one up, too!"

"Yes, sir," she said, and scurried away from him in stumbling steps.

Grant was disgusted. He'd only taken Iris on to save a billet and screw Repliforce, not because she was valuable herself. Quite the opposite, in fact. Well, that problem would take care of itself soon enough: he'd be getting replacements after this war, and there would be no competing Repliforce to screw. The Hunters would be much better off with a real Operator in her place.

Motion on the map caught his eye. He frowned. "Alia, report on Seventh Squad."

"X wouldn't approve," she said.

Grant gave her a sharp look. "What was that?"

"Seventh Squad is moving to be ready to support Task Force Lynchpin," Alia said, as if her earlier words had never existed.

Grant looked up. "Task Force Lynchpin isn't in combat right now."

"No, sir, but they will be soon. And they're holding the most important position in the line."

She had a point. Lynchpin was the last unit in the original east-west line; to their right was a sharp, sharp drop to the next supporting unit. Lynchpin was exposed on three sides now, and the next unit to their east was over three kilometers away.

How many reploids could fit in a line three kilometers long?

"Fine," he said. "But I will give the order to release them, understood?"

"Yes sir," Alia replied. For a crazy moment, Grant wondered if she did.

* * *

"Sir, let me say this again..."

"No, Signas," said Clement. "I heard you the first time."

"Repliforce isn't your usual band of Mavericks," Signas said anyway. "That's why..."

"This will work," Clement said.

Signas looked through his scope at the three wounded Repliforce soldiers. All were badly damaged enough that they couldn't clear the street. They weren't moving much, to conserve power, but they were periodically signaling that they were still alive.

They held out hope of being rescued.

It would have been trivial for Signas to end that hope. One shot for each-their heads weren't moving much-would do it. "Finishing them would be standard practice for dealing with Mavericks," he pointed out.

"But Repliforce wants all their people to survive," Clement replied. "We'll be able to pick them off when they try to rescue these three."

"I think you're underestimating how strong that bond is," Signas said. "I don't think they'll try to be sneaky and pick them up in ones and twos. I think we're defining where Repliforce's next offensive will be."

Another nearby Hunter pointed. "There go the flyers again. If they haven't picked off all our scout mechaniloids yet, they deserve to lose this war."

"We need to not be here," said Signas.

"This is a strong position," Clement insisted. "We evacuated this building fully, and that let us dig in deep. We have clear lines of sight in three directions and an escape route in the fourth. Anyway, if we fall back, the Hunters to the east are out to dry."

"They're starting to fall back regardless," Signas pointed out.

"And they'll be cut off if we lose this position," Clement rebutted. "Signas, listen, I understand. You don't like this situation. But it'll work out-we've got the full Task Force here, and..."

"Movement."

The conversation stopped. Signas looked through his scope. "Some at ground level," he said. "I... think I see some in the building above." He trained his scope on other buildings nearby, scanning about.

"Making their initial deployments," said Clement. "Spread the word. We need everyone ready for a fight."

 _How many are there?_ Signas thought. _No reports from Hunter Base-this is a surprise to them, too. We're practically blind. This is bad._

 _I know what Rekir meant about his survival instinct. We need to duck._

 _What would Rekir do in this situation?_

"Sir," Signas said, "I have movement on three different axes. Recommend falling back."

"We're not going to get a better position than this one, Signas. Give it up-"

"Contact."

Again Signas looked. He did not see anything he'd expected.

"Sir, it's Colonel. And he's got a... a white flag?"

"What's a white flag for?" asked Clement. "I mean, he obviously thinks we'd know if he's using it."

Signas sighted on Colonel, but found there was no way he could pull the trigger. By all rights he should... and yet. Colonel was acting with such conviction. He _knew_ he wouldn't be shot while he was like this. That conviction was overpowering. It froze Signas' trigger finger.

Colonel stopped not ten meters from the building the Hunters had fortified. "I would speak to your leader," he shouted.

Before Signas could warn off his superior, Clement had jumped out the already-knocked-out window and touched lightly down. "Nice day, Colonel," he said. "What's on your mind?"

"I've come to you under this flag of truce to discuss retrieving my wounded," Colonel said.

"Ah, so that's what that's for," Clement said.

Colonel's eyes narrowed dangerously. Signas' sense of danger spiked.

"It is customary in war," Colonel went on, "for both sides to have an opportunity to retrieve their wounded after a fight. These soldiers are no more threat to you. Killing them would accomplish nothing. Allow us to rescue them in peace."

"You can't ask for peace when you're at war," said Clement. "You guys are Mavericks, remember? You're all going to die anyway. So we can't make any provisions for the care of the wounded."

"This is a violation of the rules of war," said Colonel.

"I've been fighting for years," Clement retorted, "and I've never once met an enemy who played by the rules. Mavericks don't know any rules, they only know about killing and being killed. That's why I'm a Squad Leader, and my ex-boss- may he rust in peace- isn't.

"If you want your wounded, come and get them. But don't expect to get them without a fight."

Colonel's face twisted into a snarl. "Then you have no honor," he said. The words were a condemnation. He turned the flag to the side and, with a sharp crack, snapped the flagstaff over his knee.

Signas recognized on a level below thought that it was more than a symbolic gesture. "Duck!" he screamed.

A split-second before the first shots rang out.

From the buildings around the Hunters' position erupted waves of plasma and projectiles. And, on ground level, the part of the flagstaff in Colonel's right hand erupted-because it was his beam saber.

The Hunters had gotten to cover just in time, and soon they began to return fire. It quickly became obvious that the Hunters were grievously outnumbered and outgunned.

Especially without their leader. Because before Clement had recovered from the shock of the attack, Colonel was on him, beam saber flashing. Clement was able to keep ahead of Colonel, dodging and deflecting, for a full ten seconds. On the eleventh, Colonel's saber took a chunk out of Clement' right leg just as the Hunter bent to put weight on it. He crumpled to the ground.

Colonel planted a foot on Clement' back, pinning the Hunter down. "You left my wounded to die slowly," he said viciously. "I'm better than that. Better than _you_."

The beam saber probably didn't need righteous wrath backing it to do its work, but there was plenty of that anyway. A single full-strength stab slagged Clement's core. Colonel didn't give Clement a second look. Instead he retrieved the broken flag and hurled it high into the air in disgust.

And as a signal.

Twenty Repliforce soldiers broke into open ground, dashing for the Hunter position. Shots rang out, felling some, but the rest rushed on heedless of the danger, full of fervor.

"Get off the ground floor!" Signas hollered through the din. "Get the ground-floor station up and blow the stairs!"

The two Hunters on the ground floor took damage from stray, hasty shots as they escaped. Pre-placed charges blew out the stairs just ahead of a furious Colonel.

"Fire upwards," he commanded. "Take the floor out from underneath them!"

The Repliforce soldiers opened fire. Debris and clutter rained back down on them in ever-larger amounts, but no Hunters fell to their doom. Signas had them already up to the third floor.

"Fine," Colonel growled. "We'll burn them out."

The surviving Hunters went to the windows, firing nearly-blindly against the Repliforce soldiers outside. Plasma weapons had already started fires in their building. It wouldn't be long until their entire world was reduced to an inferno.

Which was why Signas had a plan ready ahead of time. He slapped the radio's transceiver so that he could transmit without holding the handset. "Signas to Hunter Base," he radioed. "Dunkirk, Dunkirk, Dunkirk."

 _"On the way,"_ promised Alia.

A medium flyer lifted off, and the Seventh Air Cavalry Squad set out as its escort.

* * *

 _"_ _No subtlety this time, huh?"_

"Not this time," X said, unloading another charged shot into the hangar. An ordnance lifter was a far thing from a combat reploid; it erupted in flame. The automated fire alarm went off, and the sprinkler system tried to trigger. It was no use. X's first act had been to pierce the tank from the outside, dumping it uselessly on the ground outside the hangar.

X walked out of the hangar. He'd set three fires and disabled any firefighting response; the fires would take care of the rest. Soon only ash would remain.

As he moved to the next hangar, three reploids made a break for it. They were non-combat laborer models, decked out in Repliforce colors. X understood—they were part of Repliforce's support staff. They weren't fighters.

They did ensure the fighters could stay in the field. And, fighters or not, they were Mavericks. Be declaration. By association.

If they'd at least fight back…

X raised his buster as anger flowed through him. There had to be a way not to have to kill them all! There had to be. Had to!

They were Mavericks.

Upset, X jerked his buster arm to the side and fired into the next hangar in line. No sooner had his target exploded than the sprinklers kicked on. Sloppy of him. He'd lost focus, and now it would take him a lot of time to recover.

In the end, though, there would be nothing left of this hangar. X was nothing if not thorough.

"There he is!"

X detected the attack moments before weapons fire rang out. He dashed for the hangar—partly to take cover, partly because (for once) he wanted to _increase_ collateral damage.

"Mega Man X!"

It was a loud voice, used to being obeyed, audible even over the pounding of the sprinkler systems. Repliforce's leaders, X reflected, were never very hard to find.

"I am Storm Owl, commander of Repliforce air units. I am prepared to offer you a deal."

Another deal. Repliforce's leaders were also insufferably reasonable for Mavericks. They really did think things were that easy, or could be resolved so non-lethally, even after they'd chosen a course that invoked capital punishment.

Like X used to think, he realized with despair. _Maybe I still do,_ he promised himself, remembering the three worker reploids he'd let go. He had to hold on to that. It was a reminder that, destructive as he was, he was the good guy.

He peaked out at the front of the hangar. Storm Owl was obvious; he was flanked by guards in Repliforce colors. The sprinklers did not appear to faze him. "You're Hunting Magma Dragoon, aren't you?" he said.

That startled X—but he soon understood. Better to tease out the truth, though. "What if I am?"

The guards all looked in the direction of his voice. Several aimed their weapons at his cover. None approached, not without Owl's direction. "He requested asylum from Repliforce," Owl said, "but he was looking for safety. He didn't want to join our cause. So I sent him away to terrain more of his liking.

"I can't abide traitors," said Owl, voice becoming severe. "He will aid our cause in a different way. In the last hangar there's a light transport, with the flight path to Magma Dragoon pre-loaded. If you stop your attack, I will give you this transport and let you go. You'll be free to track down Magma Dragoon without interference."

X buried his face in his hand. _Not just children, but_ amateur _children._ "Owl," he said, voice pained, "you've given away your whole bargaining position. Now what's to stop me from killing you, destroying this base, and _then_ tracking down Magma Dragoon without interference?"

The stunned silence that followed told him everything he needed to know. Rust, this was the perfect teachable moment—an ideal learning experience—and it was all wasted because the student wouldn't survive the lesson.

Sighing, X fired off a Spinning Blade to his right. The fiendishly buzzing projectile was slow, but its recursive flight path took it back towards the Repliforce soldiers. While they were still reacting to it, X dove out of his cover to the left and unleashed a fully charged shot from his other arm.

When the plasma wash had passed the soldiers, one of them was missing its head.

And then X was amongst them at very close range, using explosives and his strongest short-range weapons.

X did not fear Cyber Peacock evaluating him and sharing that data. He was variable. He could let someone gather data on him, then adopt an entirely different style with the same degree of skill—adding in the extra advantage of surprise.

It was only seconds before Owl and his bodyguards were a collection of ruined corpses, cooling rapidly beneath the torrent of the sprinklers.

"Spare… my men…" Owl managed. Then a loud crack and a hiss of acrid smoke signaled the death of his brain.

"Too late," X whispered.

After copying Owl's weapon and stripping the dead of the fresh e-tanks they carried, he walked out of the hangar, dripping wet all over. At the end of the air base, just starting to pull away, was an overburdened bus.

If X really put effort into it, he might be able to draw within weapons range before it…

He hadn't the will for such a thing.

Instead, he frowned. "Double, Storm Owl's eliminated. I have a lead on Magma Dragoon, but I need to bounce something off of you first."

 _"_ _Fire away."_

"I'm picking up on a pattern. Web Spider's forces were minimal. He had a bare screening force with no more fighters than necessary. Peacock's computer base was almost abandoned when I got there. It was guarded only by mechaniloids and Peacock himself. And now, Owl's air base.

"The workers and soldiers here were ready to evacuate at any time. My fight with Storm Owl was over in moments, but it was still long enough to let most of the personnel escape. They didn't take any heavy equipment that I can tell. They just wanted to get the people out.

"What do you make of this, Double?"

 _"_ _I don't know,"_ said the junior Hunter uselessly.

X began to consume one of the e-tanks as he headed for the base of the control tower. "Well," he said, planting a mine, "they had to know we'd get their installation laydown. Had to. So they knew we'd attack any base of theirs we knew about."

 _"_ _Yeah,"_ agreed Double. _"Which means they knew you'd destroy it. So... they couldn't plan on keeping it?"_

"Hm," said X, planting a third mine and turning away. "Wherever they were planning to build their new utopia, it wasn't here."

He detonated the mines. The control tower tipped and fell with a calamitous crash.

X finished his e-tank and, for a moment, considered throwing it onto the rubble of the control tower. It wasn't like he could make it any messier than it already was.

After wrestling with himself, he thought better of it. War was awful, to be sure, but that didn't give you license to do any bad thing you could think of just because war was bad. Killing in war was unavoidable. The same was not true for littering.

All such a waste, X thought.

But maybe… maybe, if he could corner Magma Dragoon, he'd get answers.

* * *

The choking smoke filled the air. The building Lynchpin had fortified was now an inferno. Repliforce would kill and cremate the Hunters in the same effort. How… efficient.

Not that Signas intended to die there.

"Keep the south clear!" he called out, trying vainly to be heard over the din of the roaring fire and the blazing weapons all around him. "Keep the south clear, the transport's coming from there!"

Time to take his own advice. He saw a Repliforce soldier trying to skirt around, run around the edge of the block. Trying to get south. Signas sent a spike through his leg. He tumbled, writhed for a moment, then rolled to cover before he was shot at more.

Signas couldn't afford that. He was almost out of ammunition.

A cry of pain from behind him. Another Hunter hit. Signas took a shot at a too-bold enemy in an opposite building, then glanced back. His ally's right arm was nearly shot off, but, making a noise in lieu of gritting non-existent teeth, the Hunter gamely swapped his buster to his left arm and kept shooting.

"We're almost dry, sir!" came another voice.

"They don't know that," said Signas. "It's the only thing keeping them back! Keep it hot!"

"We're plenty hot as is!" came another voice.

It was true enough. They'd risen up to the third floor to seek protection from the Repliforce soldiers on the first. The fires had forced them to withdraw, but those fires kept on rising, and so the Hunters went to the fourth floor. There would be no retreating to the fifth floor, because the fires raging in the stairwells had made that impossible.

There was a huge crash—this time from beneath them. Signas had a guess as to that. Part of the third floor, he was sure, had just fallen through, burned clean down onto the first. It was a long fall to the ground that way.

Movement… Repliforce soldiers in the building across were pushing chairs towards the blown-open windows. Making their own cover. Signas took aim. A mag rifle was not concerned with chairs.

He squeezed the trigger and was rewarded by an arm that flailed above the chair for a moment before falling. The chairs stopped moving.

Four shots left.

Heat and force and sound washed over him. He rocked, even lying down. Looked to the side. Two big new holes had been blown in the north wall. The three Hunters that had been shooting there were knocked back, and knocked apart.

"Get back!" Signas shouted over the renewed flood of Repliforce plasma pouring through the breaches. "Get to the east and west!"

Two of them, shaken but alive, tried to crawl as he instructed. The third, missing a leg, wasn't as able to move.

Signas noted it. He'd have to come back for him. First things first—he lobbed a smoke grenade into the gap. With the wall blown out, the only protection was keeping the enemy from getting accurate shots. Hopefully that would buy them enough time…

 _"Dunkirk ahoy,"_ squawked the radio.

"About time!" muttered Signas before grabbing the receiver. "You are fifteen seconds behind schedule."

 _"We took the scenic route. That ell-zee looks hot. Literally."_

"We're on the fourth floor. Approach from the south. You'll have to nestle in tight."

 _"Roger that. Twenty seconds."_

"Everything you've got!" Signas shouted, plunking off two more rounds. Two left. "Give Repliforce something to think about. We're almost clear!"

The Hunters sprayed fire with every weapon still available, a few going so far as to borrow weapons from the wounded. Accuracy wasn't nearly as essential as intensity. They weren't trying to kill Repliforce, just make them cover.

Signas heard the roar of the transport's hover mode engaging over even all of that.

The bulky form of the transport collapsed the south wall. The boarding ramp slammed down onto the floor. You couldn't "nestle in" much closer than that. "All aboard!" came the call.

"Evac, now!" cried Signas. He rose to retrieve his wounded comrade. Two shots went right past him—no time to wince, instead he popped off a return shot (one round left), then dropped his final smoke grenade at his feet.

He grabbed ahold of the Hunter and moved. Even with the smoke and confusion, his sense of direction was unerring. A few more steps to safety.

* * *

"No!" growled Colonel. A transport? They were going to get away? Those honorless fiends that had tormented his men?

He would not allow it.

He sprinted out towards the burning building with all his speed and power. A mighty leap put him straight through the second-floor windows. By sheer chance he landed on a part of the floor that hadn't collapsed yet. Looking up, heedless of the flames, he picked his spot, leapt through the gap in the ceiling, and landed on the third floor. It began to collapse under him almost immediately; he jumped to the wall, sprang off with a flash of boosters, and landed on solid ground.

He ignited his saber. They wouldn't get away.

* * *

"We're in," Signas said as he took the last step into the transport.

There was an eruption behind him. He turned to see a vision: a flame-wreathed Colonel, wrathful and armed, bursting through the floor like it was made of paper. He was an avatar of vengeance.

His eyes touched with Signas' for a fleeting second. Fear rippled through Signas' every circuit.

Hard training trumped it. Signas squeezed his trigger, instinctively shooting from the hip to ward the apparition away.

There was a crack as his last spike struck Colonel in the torso. Colonel's body jerked, but he didn't fall. And then the transport door slammed shut, and Signas was thrown from his feet as it boomed away. The acceleration caused even the intact reploids to tumble.

"Sorry for the rough ride," called the copilot, "but we'd be coming down with a severe case of death if we stayed."

"Don't worry about it," said Signas shakily. "The further away we get from that, the better."

"Roger," came the reply, and another surge of acceleration rocked the transport.

What _was_ that? Signas wondered. Signas had seen plenty of aggression before, but this was… more. Anyone could attack when they had the upper hand; Signas' specialty was ensuring he had the upper hand before attacking. This… was a belief that you could tear the upper hand right out of its socket.

Colonel had genuinely believed he could destroy the whole transport, all by himself, using a burning building as his springboard. It was a degree of self-belief so powerful, so influential, that Signas found himself agreeing with it despite himself.

He settled himself, reset his thoughts. The key, he decided, was to remain balanced. Un-sympathetic. Focus on what was, don't allow your perception to be clouded by the other guy. Colonel's self-belief might carry him beyond what was normally possible, but it also might make him commit to the plainly impossible. Signas could use this.

So long as he could remain within himself.

* * *

Colonel watched the transport get away. He snarled at it in frustration. That last magrifle shot… it hadn't breached his armor, but it had—literally and figuratively—stung.

He walked to the edge of the building and dropped down, using controlled bursts from his boosters to keep his descent speed safe. Once he didn't have to worry about that, he called over his transmitter.

"Hunter cowards are running from battle. Repliforce air: wipe them out. Coordinates to follow."

* * *

 _Enough ruminating_ , Signas thought to himself. "Pass out e-tanks," he said, pointing to the supplies at the head of the transport. "After e-tanks it's ammunition. We'll need to be ready to go back in."

He expected some resistance, but he encountered none. Just nods, and one of the Hunters saying, "Yes, sir."

"Not you, Lewis," Signas said. "That arm of yours is ruined."

"Good thing I have a spare," Lewis replied.

"You have a spare arm?" said Signas, disbelieving. "Where, back at base?"

"No, I meant… er, I meant I had two arms, and I still have one."

Signas smiled. A small absurdity was an oasis in the desert. "Get fitted with a replacement arm and then rejoin us," he said.

"Yes, sir!"

Lewis, Signas remembered, had been Dragoon's Azzle. When all of this started (where was Dragoon, anyway?), he'd taken over as Squad Leader, just as Signas had taken over as Squad Leader when Clement became commander for Task Force Lynchpin. So, technically, he and Lewis were the same rank, with Lewis holding the time-in-service tiebreaker.

But Lewis was calling him sir—and, Signas realized, he'd been acting as the superior. He'd taken over Task Force Lynchpin automatically, without thinking twice about it.

Maybe Rekir had a point about those evals. Signas had just finished swearing to remain within himself… but maybe that meant growing to fit his own carapace.

"Is there a radio around? Ah, there it is." He reached for it, swapped frequencies. "Alia, Signas. Clement is dead. I'm assuming command of Task Force Lynchpin."

 _"Roger."_

It was terse, even for Alia. "Request instructions…"

 _"Stand by, Signas. I'm getting yelled at."_

* * *

"I _told_ you that I would be the one to commit Seventh Squad," Grant fumed.

"There was no time, sir," Alia replied, holding her ground. "Lynchpin needed evac and every second counted."

"And now we'll lose one squad trying to save another one. Well done," Grant said caustically.

Alia didn't flinch. She pressed a button on her console. "Seventh Squad, repeat your report."

 _"Roger. Repliforce air is withdrawing."_

"Withdrawing?" Grant said. "They outnumber us three to one."

 _"Well, they were tunnel-vision on the transport, so they didn't see us coming and we got a good jump on them. We tangled for a few minutes, roughed them up a little, and then they bugged out."_

When Grant didn't immediately respond, Alia said, "Seventh, Base, roger. Well done." She pressed another button and the line went silent.

"So you got lucky," Grant said.

"Sir, luck had nothing to do with it," Alia said, her voice hardening slightly. "Signas and I independently calculated how much fuel those Repliforce fliers likely had left. Our assessments were close together. We knew that Repliforce had five minutes' combat time at most before they'd have to withdraw. This was the odds play."

Grant's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to have to give training again? On insubordination, this time?"

Alia's mouth opened as she rocked back. When she rallied, her expression was furious even as her voice was crisp. "We are at war, sir," she said, pointing at the main screen's map. "If we win and survive, I will give all the training you desire."

"Yes, the priority is to win," Grant said, unbowed. "All units, this is a reminder that we are fighting defensively. Avoid committing to decisive action. Avoid risk. Preserve our forces, protect Hunter Base, trade space for time."

"Time until what, sir?" Alia challenged.

"You'll know," Grant replied. "It'll be obvious."

"I was trying to do just that by saving Task Force Lynchpin," Alia objected. "It's almost like you wanted them destroyed. Clearly, I don't understand your intent. I can't give effective orders if your intent isn't clear."

"Then you're relieved," said Grant.

Alia's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her whole body went rigid as she came to attention. She didn't fight. She just exited without another word.

"Anyone else unable to give effective orders?" Grant asked.

The room was silent.

"Get another Operator in here to pick up her slack," he said.

"Sir, no one can pick up Alia's slack," an anonymous voice objected.

"Then bring in _two_ bodies. And get back to work!"

* * *

 _Next time: Attire_


	11. Attire

"Mechaniloid scouts are confirming it. The Hunters are abandoning the east side of the city. All their forces are falling back to an extended perimeter in the west, centered on Hunter Base."

"Well done, Colonel," General said. "I don't deserve a subordinate like you." General clapped once. The sound it made was loud and harsh enough to bring silence to the room. "Begin the final evacuation. Deployed units are to shift and secure the route. All non-command personnel are to begin their escape now."

The pitch of orders and communications got much louder after that, even as some of the soldiers standing by began to leave. Soon only a skeleton crew would remain.

Casualties so far had been higher than expected. They were behind schedule. Even so, the plan would complete in time, and some of them would escape. That would make it all worth it, if some of them could escape this death sentence hanging over them all.

They would survive with their dignity intact. That was more than any other reploids could boast.

"If any units come under attack," General went on at large, "have them retreat to the east. Our Marine units control the coast, now, so there's always an escape route."

"Sir, the Marine units just reported coming under attack themselves. It's… it's Zero, sir."

Blast. So much for that.

"Sir," came another report, "our flyers used the very last of their fuel in the skirmish with the enemy's air cavalry. Without our air base, they can't refuel. They'll start dropping out of the sky soon."

"Have them land at Abel City's airport and make their way back to our lines," General said. "They'll rejoin our exodus using the trains."

"Yes, sir."

If only Colonel could have taken care of that Zero, General thought. Or if only Zero had elected not to fight. Then again, Colonel had said he was not conflicted; if he wasn't, Zero wouldn't be. They always had clarity, those two. General could respect that.

* * *

Zero didn't know what to do.

He knew what he immediately needed to do—exterminate the re-arming Repliforce Marine units. That was going along just fine, he noted as he pulled his saber out of a Repliforce corpse. But what to do after?

Was he really going to wipe Repliforce out? If so, he would fight Colonel again. He believed that Colonel would fight to the death next time. It's what Zero would have done, and what Colonel had promised. But… did Zero even want that?

No.

Then what was he supposed to do?

Killing wasn't supposed to be hard. X was so fascinating to Zero in part because he found killing hard even as he was a death machine unto himself. It made Zero want to know why; it made him feel like he was supposed to be more like that, more like X.

Now that he was closer, he was discovering it was no fun at all.

"Gah! You're still following us?"

Zero's eyes refocused. Jet Stingray was just ahead; a handful of other Marine models were nearby. Most were scurrying away in fear. No problem; Zero could clean them up later, and they weren't fighting now.

"Fine then. Come on, Zero!" said Jet, using his, well, _jets_ to hover backwards. "See if you can finish me off!"

 _The weak shouldn't have so much bravado_ , thought Zero.

He charged for Jet, knowing he'd have to get close before he could draw Jet within saber range. Jet was retreating over a pier. Zero followed down the length of the pier.

"Perfect!" said Jet. "You have nowhere to go!" Jet retreated into the air over the open ocean and fired back along the pier, which was narrow enough that his explosive weapons couldn't miss completely.

So Zero, deciding against just tanking the explosions, shot the projectiles out of the air with his buster. And Jet's stopping to fire had allowed Zero to close the distance.

Jet realized this a little too late—realized it as Zero launched into the air after him. Zero's saber flashed, but Jet's slight moment of warning allowed him to move.

It was enough to prevent the loss of his life. It wasn't enough to prevent the loss of his leg.

Unbalanced and having lost some of his propulsion, Jet fell for the water. Zero fell, too. He hadn't had a plan for recovering; killing the target had been the only thing on his mind.

The two of them splashed into the water with heavy smacks and fountains of water. If Jet had been able to think, he would have recognized his advantage in the water in enough time to slip away from Zero. But he couldn't. He was very nearly a rookie. He was scared out of his mind fighting the Red Demon. He was jarred by the impact, riven by pain and shock from his wounds.

They were all excellent excuses. Excuses didn't save him.

Zero found him as they drifted towards the bottom. The water kept heat-based plasma and beam weaponry from being effective, but Zero had no need of weapons at this range. He had very nearly killed Sigma himself with no meaningful weapons. Jet Stingray was no Sigma.

He didn't release Jet until he was sure the Maverick would not move again.

He let the corpse drift away and walked—slowly, given the water—back to the pier. He used one of its pillars to climb up and out. The surviving Repliforce Marines had fled the scene. Zero scanned around, looking for them.

His eyes touched on something unusual—his hand. It was still covered in hydraulic fluid, a sharp contrast from the white of his armor.

He jumped back, as if that would somehow let him escape himself. His gaze darted around like he was afraid he'd be caught doing something wrong. Inexorably, his eyes returned to his hand.

They widened.

He _remembered_.

Remembered hydraulics on his hands, remembered the thrill—the glory!—the hunger that remained, wasn't sated only dulled had to be fed wanted more BETTER—

 _"_ _Zero, are you okay?"_

"Ki-yah!" Zero said, warping whatever instinct was saying into something unintelligible.

 _"_ _Zero!"_

"I'm fine!" he lied to Iris, shaking his head. Not now! Who needed a memory if it played tricks like this? He couldn't allow it—didn't want, didn't need—

 _"_ _I lost your signal for a moment. What happened?"_

"The water," he said, trying not to sound strained. "I had to go underwater to kill Jet Stingray. It blocked my signals."

 _"_ _You're not okay. I can tell. Was Jet that tough?"_

"No, it's not that. It's…" he stopped. Communications weren't totally secure, especially not at a time like this. No. Couldn't say. "Iris, it's about… something I told you earlier."

 _"_ _Your dream?"_

She had _no_ sense of communications security. Or she couldn't help herself. "Never mind," Zero said.

 _"_ _I'm sorry!"_ she squeaked. She'd read his dissatisfaction.

"I said don't worry about it. The war's getting to all of us." It wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to be at home at times like this, free to do what felt right. Free to do what he did best, with pleasure and success. Why was he so…

What was he doing?

Maybe… maybe if he fed it more…

Maybe if he gave the Red Demon more rein, became more like that…

But what did that even mean? The Red Demon was always part of him! Zero had always thought that the part of him that loved to kill, that lived for high-level combat… he'd always called that part of him the Red Demon. It was grumbling at him. This wasn't satisfying it. So what was he supposed to do?

Ask for help. Only X could help him. X was gone. Failing that, ask for orders.

It was his usual fallback, and it was pitifully inadequate. "Next target," he said.

 _"…_ _okay,"_ Iris answered, and what she could feel of Zero she didn't say. If she had any answers for him, she also didn't say.

* * *

"So, quiet along your front. Thanks, Altern," said Alia.

 _"No problem."_

She'd expected that. She dropped a marker on her map. It wasn't the same map as they had on the watch floor; it was a generic city map. But, exiled from the watch floor as she was, this was the best she could do.

She was a professional. A professional worked, even if her boss made that hard. Dismiss her, would he? Well, that just meant she needed to work twice as hard, to make up for his mistake.

In a way, she had to admit, he was doing her a small favor. By taking her away from moment-to-moment unit control, he was giving her the chance to look at the big picture. You had to do that, from time to time. She'd learned that lesson back in the days when she worked with roboticists. It was too easy for them to get sucked in to the details of a particular system, even a particular subsystem, and lose track of its role in the grand design. Too often people got wrapped up perfecting their small piece of things, and when all these "perfect" pieces came together you had a chimera, a monster of mismatched parts, worse than useless, cruel to build. You always had to have someone who could take a step back and look at the problem in totality. That should have been Grant's role, but if he was too busy playing I've-got-a-secret, she would fill the void.

Which meant she had no time to waste on anything as fanciful as an extended metaphor.

She peered closer. Hm. She put her hand to her headset and dialed over to Eleventh Squad's command frequency.

"Signas, Alia, request you channel eight-five."

Come on, she thought. Be there.

 _"Alia, Signas. What can I do for you?"_

She sighed in relief. He'd picked up, and he hadn't asked about why she hadn't called herself Hunter Base. He was keeping to business. It was better that way.

"Signas, I have a theory about Repliforce's strategy. I want to run it past you."

 _"Let me hear it."_

* * *

X had been here before.

There weren't all that many volcanos around with freely flowing lava. Magma Dragoon, attracted perhaps by the ambience and the theming, had retreated to Flame Stag's old stomping grounds. History repeating, just like the wars themselves.

X wondered if Repliforce appreciated this fact. Certainly Dragoon did.

A mechaniloid spotted X. It squealed. He gunned it down before it could get away to report on him. He didn't need to give Dragoon any extra advantages, especially since he planned on taking his time. There was no profit in rushing around hazards like this.

He passed by a pipe. Out of curiosity, he swapped over to infrared vision. Even with the elevated air temperature, the pipe was blindingly bright.

This place should have been a geothermal power plant. There were vast amounts of power available here. The entire island of Iceland, X remembered, ran off of geothermal; this might not have been as impressive, but it would have been useful all the same. Then the Mavericks had moved in to try and figure out how to weaponize the plant, and the Hunters had come in after them. The rest, as they said, was history… and now the leftover infrastructure from that project was as dangerous as the volcano itself.

X went back to the visual range. He gave the pipe a wide berth.

It was a story X had seen over and over again. All these great projects humans and reploids had built, all turned into weapons or ruined in crossfires. This plant, Sky Lagoon, Dopplertown…

The area ahead was dark. X swapped vision modes again and saw the outlines of lights, valves, controls, and two thick, split-open cables. His danger sense prickled. The lights might be dark from burning out, sure, but they might also be dark because their live power supply had been cut.

No point chancing it. X leapt into the air and used the boosters in his feet to clear the control station in one go. He let down on the far side.

A mechaniloid started blaring at him. "BWEET! BWEET! BWEET!"

X silenced it. Too late. Several others, looking like classical Light-era Battons, began to close on him.

Mindless little things. They had no way to know they had no chance.

X caught one with Spider's Lightning Web; it fell, screaming, into the main crater area. As the others closed, X used Storm Owl's Double Cyclone to knock them out in bulk.

X's fight with Storm Owl had been so frantic and short there hadn't been time to fully evaluate the bounty. That meant live testing was the only option. Better to do live testing in low-danger situations, and face-to-face with Magma Dragoon would not qualify. Now to check on the mechaniloids…

Repliforce markings.

So Repliforce had been willing to sell Dragoon out, but they'd still given him mechaniloids for support? Maybe hoping he would delay or destroy X for them without putting any of their own personnel at risk. It made sense for Repliforce… but why did it make sense for Dragoon?

"X!" boomed a voice. He recognized it as Dragoon's. Up ahead was an outcrop, an overlook above the main area of lava. X moved for it. Hopefully he'd be able to see Dragoon from there.

Oh, _really_.

"Come fight me, X," Dragoon hollered. He was standing on a ridge of rock entirely surrounded by lava. It was the most hazardous, stupidest place to fight that X could imagine.

"I'm not coming down there," X replied. Fighting a Maverick Hunter squad leader on terrain of his choosing? Terrain that would punish any mistake? Madness. He readied his buster.

Dragoon pressed a button on a remote control.

The ground vanished out from under X. He recognized too late—a small charge underneath the outcrop, detonated by remote to bring X down to Dragoon's level, like it or not.

And Dragoon was rushing towards the edge of his chosen battleground, ready to greet X when he arrived.

Panicked, X fired a shot ahead of Dragoon—hastily aimed, but maybe it would make Dragoon hesitate. Without checking to see if it worked, X tucked his feet back under him and gave a maximum-thrust boost on open air. It was enough. His new trajectory put him flying over Magma Dragoon—

A gout of flame narrowly missed him. He tumbled but still landed on his feet, facing away from Dragoon. He whirled around, knowing Dragoon was doing the same. Quick-draw situation, and X couldn't be sure…

They both raised weapons. X fired first. His shot was quick, uncharged, aimed high—not able to kill, not _intended_ to kill.

It struck Dragoon in the upper chest and rocked his torso back ever-so-slightly. His flame blast answered, lashing out at close range—but Dragoon's aim had been elevated ever-so-slightly by the impact of X's shot. The flames were close enough overhead they set off temperature alarms in X's head. They did no actual damage.

Before the flames fully cleared X's vision, Dragoon snap-kicked X, aiming for the face. X took the blow as well as he could, soaking it on shoulder and hand. It still spun him about, disorienting X in a place where a single misstep could have fiery and fatal consequences.

He regained his bearings just as Dragoon came flying forward. His arm crashed down with enough strength to plaster X against the rock. X danced backwards and away, knowing he had precious little space.

Fourteenth Squad was known as a Grapple Combat Unit. Their specialty was close-range fighting. Dragoon, in fact, had been the hand-to-hand combat instructor. X could not remain close and hope to live. But, with so little room available, he couldn't exactly stay away, either, not for long, not as fast as Dragoon was…

He pelted Dragoon with quick, rapid-fire shots to slow the ex-Hunter down. They didn't, really. Dragoon would not be distracted and cover his face like Web Spider. He would not be overcome by pain or fear like Cyber Peacock. He knew the stakes. He knew that half-measures could not prevail against X. He rushed through the barrage, ignoring the pain and damage. Again he leaped—coming down with a strong kick, so tall and jumping so high himself that X couldn't hope to jump over and clear.

X crouched down and dashed instead, body almost parallel to the rock, squirting just underneath the vaulting Maverick—charging his X-busters all along.

Again Dragoon whirled, and again he unleashed his flames. This time, though, X had been in motion, and he never paused, dashing out as far as he could—and then going further.

No, this was no time for half-measures.

X leaped out away from the rock, jumping into the air over open lava.

It was just enough to clear the range of Dragoon's flames; they nipped at X's heels as he leapt. Gathering himself once more, X fired his boosters again, leaping on nothing, a move even similarly-equipped reploids would never have attempted. The stresses were too much for their bodies to take; the control needed was only attainable after three-and-counting wars of experience.

And even if there _had_ been a reploid with the construction and control to pull it off, there were none with the imagination to conceive of it mid-battle.

X flew back towards the platform again, twisting as he came, bringing his whining busters into line.

Even shocked as he was, Dragoon was able to get his arms in front of his chest. His arms were blackened by the blow, and some plasma bled through to darken Dragoon's chest, but he was alive. He dropped his arms to find X—

And the second blast, delivered in perfect rhythm, took him clean off his feet.

Whether it was a triumph of superior construction or sheer will, Dragoon rebounded from the hit. He was on his feet almost instantly; his lust for life burned in his eyes.

Which was why X had to be aggressive, had to _end this_.

Even as Dragoon bounced to his feet, X was dashing for him, a move so bold it bought the Hunter the fractional second he needed. He fired off Double Cyclone with just one arm. The surge of compressed air lifted a surprised Dragoon into the air, suspending him helplessly...

And a third and final charged shot burned through Dragoon's armor and breached his chest.

He slammed with finality to the ground. X could see him struggle even so. He tried to move, tried to regain his feet. He could barely lift his hand. The battle was over.

"What a waste!" X shouted as he walked towards Dragoon, hands still smoking from overcharge. "Look at how well you fought! You did everything you could—you dictated the terrain, you achieved surprise, you set up favorable rules of engagement…"

"David strategies," Dragoon said. His power system was fluctuating, so his voice chip's output was, too. "When outclassed… seek out high-variance situations, and hope to get lucky. The lava was my equalizer." He laughed; with his damage, it was a strange, surreal sound, jumping across several octaves. "Not that it mattered. What they say is true. Death does wear blue."

X's lips pursed. "I thought Zero was Sudden-Death Man."

"He is, but… you have your own reputation."

X had no time to think about that. He didn't want to, either. "Why, Dragoon? Tell me why!"

"I wanted to live," Dragoon replied. "Only by fighting you, and winning… could I escape."

"That's not what I mean," X said, frustrated. "Why did you go Maverick? Why did you destroy Sky Lagoon? What was worth thousands of deaths and provoking this war?"

An electrical arc crisscrossed Dragoon's body. His end was near, and both robots knew it. Plasma weapons did bad things to electrical insulation. Even heat-based fighters like Dragoon weren't protected from fire inside their bodies.

"I don't know how you do it," Dragoon said. "As a grappler, I have to get close to fight. I see the faces of the Mavericks I Hunt. I hear their voices, their screams, their last words, their bitterest curses. I… I guess I was called 'collaborator' once too often. After a while, it stuck. I started to feel like one. I… despaired.

"There was no end to it. It was so personal—so immediate, and it never stopped. I couldn't handle killing and killing and killing with my own hands. The more I killed, the harder it got. The more I killed, the more the Hunters rewarded me, and the more they demanded I kill even more. I… couldn't..."

"Oh, Dragoon," X said sorrowfully.

"I was a traitor no matter what I did," Dragoon said. "If I stayed a Hunter, I was a traitor to reploids. If I left, I was a traitor to humans. So when… when I was offered a way out… They promised me. They said, one last time, and then I'd never have to kill again."

He laughed bitterly. "I guess they were right."

Another arc. Dragoon's limbs twitched as motor control burned out.

"So you let the Mavericks use you," X said, voice gentle. "With your help, they instigated the Fourth Maverick War."

Dragoon's voice chip made an indistinct noise—it had lost its precision. "It sounds so bad when you put it like that."

"Hundreds of good people—earnest, credulous people—are dying right now because of it. And I… I'm forced to kill because of it. Not just kill. I have to _annihilate_ Repliforce because this world doesn't believe in in-between."

"But you'll do it anyway," said Dragoon.

"Maverickism is worse," was all X could muster.

Dragoon closed his eyes. "I see. So it is possible, after all."

X blinked. "What is?"

"Remaining yourself as a Hunter. I couldn't, but you did. And how! You've been fighting so much longer… you've seen so much more destruction… I felt sorry for myself, all this time, but I haven't had nearly as many battles as you have. Death wears blue. And you remember, don't you?"

X didn't trust himself to speak.

"And yet… here you are."

The arcing and sparking became more urgent. "I'm glad I was able to fight you, X," said Dragoon. "I'm glad I was able to see you… like this."

"Why?" said X, dumbfounded.

"Because here… at the last, I was able to see your… conviction."

There was no explosion. There was a snap. There was a puff. There was a lazy flame, and a trail of smoke escaping from the breach in Dragoon's chest. With the lava so close by you wouldn't even have felt the heat.

X sighed.

Reluctantly he put his hands over Dragoon's, let the new data flow into him. Then, even more reluctantly, he popped open a panel on his leg and withdrew two long, silvery tools.

Some time later, he stood again. He took one last look at Dragoon, including the head panel he'd left open. Then he shoved the body into the lava, never to be seen again.

"Goodbye, Magma Dragoon," he whispered. "May you find in death the peace you never knew in life."

As he walked away, he couldn't help but wonder if that would be his epitaph someday.

* * *

Alia gathered herself. She was sure. Her data were solid. She was right.

She hoped that would be enough.

She entered the watch floor for the first time since being relieved. It was essentially the same as before. There were a few more e-tanks and cups of coffee, perhaps—it had been a long day. And there were _three_ people clustered around the console that had been hers. She allowed herself a spark of professional pride at that.

"What are you doing here?" growled Grant.

The words and tone might have deterred some other Operators, Alia knew. They would have sent Iris to her knees. For Alia, though, they just reminded her of how wrong he'd been in relieving her. That mote of anger was enough to help her plow through him. "Sir, I recommend the following dispositions for our squads, particularly the Seventeenth, Zeroth, Sixth, Eighth, and Task Force Lynchpin."

She handed him a piece of paper with both map and coordinates. Grant took it, but held it at his side without looking at it. "Why?"

"Because they'll thwart Repliforce's plan," she answered.

"Oh, we know that now?"

"We don't know, but we can infer," she said, preferring precision even in the face of his sarcasm. "When the fighting started, I was confused: why was Repliforce on the offensive? If they really wanted to build a new nation, they should have pulled a Doppler: dig in to their own facilities, and only attack Hunter Base preemptively if at all. Then, when X and Zero started attacking their backfield, they encountered only token resistance." Her eyes touched briefly on the Operators who'd provided that information. Double puffed up a little with pride; Iris was staring at her screen and blocking everything else out.

"The facilities they attacked were abandoned or nearly so," she continued. "Repliforce was leaving them before we ever got there. Wherever Repliforce is planning to build their new nation, it's not in their own lands. And it can't be in Abel City—that's hostile territory for them."

Grant waved his hand to tell her to go on.

"It's hard to tell because we have so few mechaniloids left, but Repliforce is moving. They're shifting. None of our forces have come under attack since Lynchpin was routed. It was as if they'd accomplished their objective as soon as they cleared the eastern side of Abel City. But it's not even the city itself that they want. The only thing that makes Abel City interesting is that it has the roads and railroads to get to where they can build their new nation."

"And where's that?"

Alia didn't answer immediately. Instead she went back to her console—the replacement operators scattering before her to make way—and shifted the map on the main screen. She traced the major arteries leading south out of Abel City's east—south, along the coast. Five kilometers. Ten kilometers, with the roads getting smaller and less important. Fifteen kilometers. Twenty. And then, right around the twenty-five kilometer mark, the only remaining road terminated at a single facility.

"Wherever they can get from here," she said triumphantly.

Grant's face was ashen. His eyes were fixed, as if he was petrified by this revelation.

"Sir?" Alia prompted.

Grant snapped his gaze to her—it went back, involuntarily, to the map—then back to her. He handed her back the piece of paper. "Make it happen," he rasped.

"Yes, sir," she said with relish.

"All points!" Grant shouted, his voice cracking in the process. "We're counter-attacking, now! Alia has the lead on disposition and axes of attack. We're committing everything! We've got to stop Repliforce!"

"Even Task Force Home?" Alia asked, wanting to be absolutely sure.

"Even Task Force Home!"

"Understood," she said, whirling. She quickly drew several major axes and a handful of rendezvous points. "All squads are to attack along these main routes. We've got to pinch off the southern roads. Set up roadblocks at these points…" Another set of figures. "We're not retreating this time. Repliforce is going to crash against us and break."

The hubbub on the watch floor rapidly built up as people reacted to the new orders and began coordinating, chattering, and shouting.

Alia switched to her radio. "Iris."

 _"Huh—oh, Alia. What is it?"_

"New orders. Redeploy the Zeroth. Coordinates are on this paper."

Iris jerked her head to the side, seeing the world around her for the first time in… hours, probably, if Alia had to guess. _"Why? What's going on?"_

Alia pressed the paper into Iris' hands. "Drama," Alia said wryly. "Be glad you missed it—it would have fried your circuits."

 _"I am,"_ said Iris. She looked down at the paper. _"I understand."_

"Good." Alia returned to her own console. Another call to make, now. "Lynchpin, Hunter Base."

 _"Base, Lynchpin, standing by."_

Good. Signas knew it was her by voice, and hadn't bothered asking how it had gone, or if she'd succeeded—he knew, just by hearing her refer to herself as Hunter Base, that she'd won, and that meant it was time to go.

Efficient. Precise. Her aesthetic was satisfied.

"Release your medium transport. We're upgrading you to the Land Carrier. I'm giving you the survivors of the Sixth and Eighth Squads to bring you up in strength. You'll have the major blocking station at the south of Abel City."

 _"Last line?"_

"Not last. But best."

She looked up at the map, at the road that led directly from Abel City's southern edge twenty-five kilometers south—and, at the end of the line, the spaceport that had been Repliforce's goal all along. The point of everything they had done—every attack and maneuver—had been solely to clear this route to the spaceport. Now that it was clear, their attacks had stopped, and they'd shifted over to running for it. The Hunters had to get there first.

"Once they've got the spaceport, there's no telling where they might go," Alia said. "You'll need to bag them before they get there."

 _"I understand. Lynchpin is deploying now."_

How efficient of him. It made Alia smile.

"We don't know how many blocking positions might be between you and your destination," Alia went on, moving to her controls. "I'm grabbing all the recon mechaniloids we have left. We couldn't block every intersection, but neither can they. I'll find you the openings and thread you through."

 _"Roger."_

With her initial orders issued, Alia had a moment to glare at the master map. "Alright," she whispered self-indulgently. "You guys had your chance. You gave us your best shot.

"Our turn."

Then she was speaking into her radio again. There was, after all, a lot of work to do. In her world, there always was.

* * *

 _Next time: Sauve Qui Peut_


	12. Sauve Qui Peut

"I can't hold the train any longer," said Slash. "Go," he said to the impressed engineer.

"But sir, we've got stragglers from the air units still coming in!"

"They'll have to find their own way."

"Five minutes, please!"

It wrenched at Slash. He growled at himself as he shook his head. "Go!" he said again to the engineer. Slowly, slowly, the train began to pull away.

"I already waited fifteen minutes," said Slash bitterly. "Fifteen minutes past my revised departure time, which is an hour later than the original timetable."

The radio operator trembled. "I can hear them," he said. "I can hear them calling—they can see us pulling away. They know we're leaving—"

"I did the best I could!" said Slash, angrily, punching his hand through the wall of the train. "If we delay any longer the Hunters will catch us for sure and then we're _all_ dead!"

With difficulty he pulled his hand back. The radio operator was still staring, wide-eyed. Slash shook his head. "We knew when we started we couldn't save everyone," he muttered, "but I was sure we'd be able to save more than this…"

 _"Contact!"_

The radio operator was jarred. "Say again last report."

 _"I've got Hunter contact. It's a hover cycle—pulling alongside—"_

An explosion came over the radio. _"Rust me!"_ the report continued. _"What kind of attack was… oh! It's Zero! It's Zero! He's come for us! We're dead, we're all dead,_ he's here! _He just boarded the—"_

There was a blast of static, and then the line went silent.

"Give it to me," Slash said, more calmly than he felt. The radio operator complied. Slash gathered himself for several seconds—this call would not be easy. "General," he radioed, "It's Slash. I've set off, but… but Zero has boarded my train."

 _"I see. I'm so sorry."_

"It's my fault," said Slash. "I delayed fifteen minutes, and that gave him time to catch up. I will take responsibility."

 _"Don't do anything rash. Cut the train—drop off any cars Zero might be in. Save the rest."_

"I will do what I can to save as many as possible," Slash said.

 _"Slash, I order you to…"_

"It's been an honor serving with you, General," said Slash. "Don't wait for us. Continue the evacuation." Then he put his claws through the radio.

He looked at his radio operator. "I'm not abandoning anyone else," he said. "I will not disgrace the Repliforce."

He met his radio operator's eyes. "I can see your fear," he said. "I'm afraid, too. But I'm far more afraid of dishonoring Repliforce than I am of dying. Colonel said it best. Death before dishonor. That's why we're doing this, isn't it?"

The engineer, who'd had nothing to do with Repliforce before the war, didn't react. The radio operator nodded, like he knew he was supposed to whether he believed it or not.

"With our heads held high," Slash said, "we will fight and win, and we will save our comrades. For Repliforce!"

Slash remembered back in Alexandria, what seemed a lifetime ago. He'd said very similar words, then. But they felt completely different now. His core was cycling quickly, making him twitch and increasing his temperature as his body tried to burn off the excess energy. If this was nervousness, it was a different kind than he'd felt before. This was nothing like being before Colonel for an inspection, or ordering his unit into formation. He didn't relish the feeling. He hoped it would pass soon.

The first car he walked through held support members of Repliforce, and the wounded. All of them were quiet—in some combination of shock, sullenness, and pain. "For Repliforce!" Slash shouted. He got a few unenthusiastic replies, but that was all he could expect from that lot.

The mood was brighter in the next car. A dozen soldiers sat there, still armed and ready for battle. "For Repliforce!" Slash called, and got a strong response. It made him feel so good he did it again; the answer was even better. He almost did it a third time, but a muffled explosion reminded him of his mission. He moved on.

The next car was a charnel house.

When the doors opened, Zero was standing in the aisle. His saber was buried in the still-twitching body of a Repliforce soldier. He glanced up at Slash when the doors opened and, to Slash's amazement, looked back down. Planting his foot on the soldier's chest, Zero drew his saber back out—callously, casually, as if unconcerned that Slash was there.

It made Slash snarl. "You'll regret what you've done to my men!"

"Do I look like X?" Zero said flatly.

With all that he was feeling—including a spike of fear and surprise at such a reply—Slash could find no answer.

"The only question," Zero said, pointing his saber in Slash's direction, "is whether or not I'll need an e-tank after I'm done here."

 _I'm nothing to him,_ Slash knew instinctively. _Nothing._

 _Pride and honor give us strength—but what are pride and honor to a creature like this?_

"Repliforce," Slash said, trying to keep his voice from cracking with fear, "attack!"

* * *

When all was said and done, Zero decided he didn't need another e-tank.

But he did realize in time that the engineer wasn't part of Repliforce, and so didn't kill him. He was impressed with himself for that.

* * *

 _"We're not going to be able to bag all of Repliforce. Some are going to slip through before we're in position."_

 _"Understood. Break them up as best you can. Zeroth is already on the way towards the spaceport, and I've got a Bee Blader going to retrieve Zero."_

 _"That's asking a lot out of a Bee Blader, if you're wanting it to get him all the way to the spaceport."_

 _"It just has to get him close."_

There was a brief gap in the radio traffic—an opening! Altern pounced. "Base, Fifth Squad. We are in position," he reported. "Roadblock is coming up now. If any Repliforce units divert from Lynchpin, we'll catch them."

 _"Fifth, Base, roger."_

"That's the most effort I've put into so few words," he muttered as he replaced the radio. As he looked out, he saw the Hunters preparing their barriers. They would deploy on command, turning an apparently-open street into an impassable block. That would stop any van or truck cold, and that would be the cue for the Hunters on either side of the street to open fire.

There was just one problem with the plan.

"Boss," Altern said to his squad leader, Vertos, "what about hover transports?"

"I guess we'll have to open fire a beat early if that's the case," Vertos replied. "Fire when the barriers deploy instead of waiting for the enemy to stop."

"What if we put someone up there?" Altern asked.

Vertos followed Altern's pointing finger. "What, behind the statue?"

"I was thinking _on_ the statue."

Vertos' expression betrayed his disbelief. It was a work of abstract sculpture a (human) artist said was very appealing to the (human) emotions, but Vertos had never had any opinion on it. He could see the small area of flat surface Altern had in mind. The trouble was… "It won't hold any of us. It's too flimsy for an armored Hunter."

"I can detach my armor. It halves my combat weight."

"Without your armor you'll be killed in a single hit, probably."

"I'd better not get hit, then."

"But they'll see your buster fire and shoot back."

"I'll borrow Charon's heavy laser. They won't see it coming unless there's a lot of smoke, and if there is the laser's not doing much damage anyway, so I'll hold my fire. And I'll be able to shoot right up the street. Plenty of time to focus on targets and disable them."

Vertos looked at Altern. "This is crazy, especially for someone who thinks about death as much as you do. You don't have to be extra-risky just because you missed some of the fighting."

Altern drew back. "Sir, it's not like that."

"It sure looks like it. It looks like you felt really bad that we were in danger when you weren't, so you decided you had to do something _really_ dangerous to make up for lost time."

Altern's expression fell, but he rallied. "Sir, do you know from poker?"

"I can't say that I do."

"The point of poker isn't to avoid all risk," said Altern, thinking of Rekir. "It's to recognize when the odds favor you, and take advantage of it. If I do this, I can inflict damage way out of proportion to the danger I'm in. It's the money play, sir."

Vertos crossed his arms. "Altern, can you promise me something?"

"Maybe," Altern said cautiously.

"Don't give Repliforce any pointers, okay?" Vertos said with a smile. "We need them to be unreasonable for a few more hours."

A series of pops were followed by a smaller number of clunks. Altern's armored over-carapace fell to the ground, revealing his slight true form. "That's a promise I can keep. One way or another," he added, suddenly dour.

Vertos rolled his eyes. "That's more like you," he moaned, but the smile stayed. "Now get going."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Colonel's self-repair system was clearing up the last few nicks. He would be fully repaired any moment now.

"The defenses weren't so tough after all, were they, sir?" asked Adjutant.

"They were," said Colonel, patting his body. "The spaceport is critical infrastructure. It was well defended. But with the Honor Guard supporting me, how could I fail?"

"Of course, sir."

Colonel nodded to himself. "It's not my time. Not quite. But it will be soon."

"Light forbid it!"

Colonel turned his gaze away from the guard building's screens. Adjutant shifted uncomfortably, and added, "Sir," almost reflexively.

"We don't fear death, do we, soldier?" Colonel said evenly.

Even a hint of disappointment in Colonel's voice was enough to flood Adjutant with shame. "No, sir."

"No," Colonel agreed. "Death comes for all soldiers in time. How we receive it... that is who we really are. Think about the Hunters. How many of them have we shot in the back? How many have we killed as they ran away? We're better than that. _I_ am better."

He looked through the cameras to ensure that Repliforce's takeover was complete. Satisfied, he exited the shack, Adjutant on his heels.

"This really is a magnificent facility," said Colonel. The spaceport's security perimeter extended far and away from its main facilities. Support buildings- offices, administration, parts shops, and so on- were up against the perimeter, not for security reasons, but to remain well away from the launches and anything that might happen with them. The only road into the spaceport was the one running south from Abel City; the main guard building, where Colonel had been resting, straddled the gates across the road.

Hundreds of meters separated the perimeter from the hangars. The hangars were arranged in a semi-circle, like spokes of a wheel, all with tracks that pointed inwards. The hub of the wheel was the launch ramp that was, by its end, nearly vertical. Spaceships from any one of the hangars could follow its track to the ramp and use the ramp to guide their launches. All the launches initially pointed out to sea; the coast formed the natural barrier on the other side of the spaceport. It was a defensible position, to be sure.

"It will hold long enough, won't it?" said Adjutant.

"Yes. It's a good place for a stand. A good place to die."

"Please stop saying that, sir," said Adjutant, increasingly distressed.

"You don't understand. That's not your fault. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want them to lose heart." Colonel drew himself up. "I was never going to be able to go to space with the rest of you."

Adjutant shook his head in confusion. "What?"

Colonel let his eyes track over the launch ramp- up, up, up to how they were going to escape. Escape from Earth, from humans, from duty...

"I can't leave," he said. "I'm tied to Earth in a way none of you are. I can't go to space. But all of you can."

"Without you?" said Adjutant. "When you're... the first amongst us, the best? Never. I'd rather stand here and die with you."

Colonel supposed he should have felt honored. He didn't. "No."

"But..."

"I said no. Repliforce is bigger than any individual. That's the whole point, isn't it? Everything we've done has acknowledged this. Web Spider knew this, and Frost Walrus, and Storm Owl, and..."

Adjutant was shaking. Colonel composed himself. "I just have one request. This isn't an order, and I'm not asking as your colonel, but soldier-to-soldier."

"Anything," said Adjutant.

"Don't mourn for me."

Adjutant blinked. "What?"

The sunlight was bright on the sea beyond the spaceport. Colonel wondered if it would be bright in space. It depended upon where you looked, he supposed- but that was the same as Earth. "Don't mourn for me," Colonel said again. "I'm going to cause great sorrow to Iris when I die. There's no avoiding that, and I'm sorry for it. I can't bear to think of others being that sorrowful over my death. Don't mourn me, Adjutant. I'll have died a meaningful death, the best death a soldier could ask for. Instead, celebrate me. Remember me."

"We will," vowed Adjutant. "Forever."

"Thank you," said Colonel. "That's a great weight lifted off my shoulders. Oh, and if it's not too much to ask..."

"Just name it."

"...give my love to Iris, and my best regards to Zero, once everything calms down. Once the war's over."

Colonel saw Adjutant grappling with the request. He knew Adjutant was trying to imagine how he could possibly fulfill it. The soldier steeled himself, and replied, "I'll do my best."

Colonel smiled proudly. "I can ask for nothing more," he said. "Now, let's see to the preparations."

* * *

Dimly, Signas heard the reports from elsewhere. The spaceport had, indeed, fallen, and the first wave of Repliforce transports had escaped the city just ahead of Lynchpin's arrival. The Seventh Air Cavalry was harassing the escapees, the Zeroth was tracking and trying to force them into a running battle if they could intercept in time, while the Seventeenth was skipping over all of that to go directly at the spaceport with their heavier guns.

All of that was interesting but, at the moment, not relevant. All that mattered was being ready for Repliforce the moment they came down this road.

Road? This was a highway, a major thoroughfare, eight lanes in all. Plenty of room to maneuver, difficult to block completely.

So Lynchpin hadn't blocked it completely. They'd blocked the outside lanes as best they could. They'd left the inside lanes clear. In other words, they'd built a funnel—and they'd positioned themselves to fire on the funnel and ranged their weapons precisely to the task.

Signas had heard the "most precise processors" line again as they prepared. He didn't care to dispute it anymore.

"Incoming," was Alia's crisp voice. "Two clicks."

"Roger," replied Signas. "We'll engage shortly." He put the radio down and hefted his magrifle once more. This was familiar, he thought to himself. This would be his fourth—fifth? Fifth—defensive stand of the war. Those others, though, had all been made with the intention of falling back. They were delaying operations. Not this time. This time, the Hunters were ready for hard defense. They'd be outnumbered, sure, but if Repliforce was truly abandoning the city and running for the spaceport, they'd be less organized, less coherent, and they'd have left most of their heavy equipment behind.

Hard defense against a numerically superior but lighter-equipped foe? Why, that was a Hunter specialty. It was one of their standard template ops against the Mavericks.

He was ready.

"Contact," came a shout, and Signas saw and agreed moments later. He saw the transports coming, a heterogeneous mix of hover- and wheeled, some with Repliforce markings, many without—doubtless Repliforce was liberating anything they could drive and stuff people into. The downside, naturally, was that such vehicles were unarmored. Easy prey for military-grade weapons.

"Fire on my lead," Signas said. The scheme was pre-arranged, agreed to on the way to the ambush. Everyone knew which sectors would be theirs; any targets in their sectors were fair game.

 _Wait for it…_

The lead vehicles were four-abreast as they approached, with others filling in every-which-way behind.

 _Wait for it…_

They were moving quickly, even faster than the combat-ready transports from this morning. Speed was essential to Repliforce's plan, he recognized. They had to go fast to get away. It was almost panicky. It would be very panicky shortly.

 _Almost there…_

He heard grinding and tensing around him as his fellows waited. They would have started shooting by now, he knew, but they were too well-disciplined to disobey orders. Combat weeded out the insubordinate better and faster than anything, and the Hunters saw plenty of combat.

Signas could see the crowd behind, vehicles after vehicle, easily dozens of them. If he was going to bag them all, he had to wait as long as possible- get as many as he could to commit to this course, and get snared in the trap. That meant waiting past when any Hunter with the slightest case of nerves would have opened fire.

 _Wait for it…_

He could see the moment the front four recognized the roadblock. They all began to converge on the opening to the funnel, but, since there wasn't space for all four, two of them began to brake to try and fall in behind.

 _Now._

Signas sent a spike directly into the unarmored engine of one of the two leaders. At almost the same time, another marksman blew apart the front of the second lead vehicle. Both came to a stop almost immediately, only for the two behind to plow into them. With all the transports going so fast, the chain-reaction that resulted was incredible and deafening.

And, just like that, Repliforce had provided the plug for Signas' funnel.

There was a five-second wait as the Repliforce vehicles piled up, compressed, braked, and in all ways got impossibly dense—and then the Hunters opened up in an environment in which they physically could not miss and no defense was possible.

A kaleidoscope of destructive power rained down upon the convoy. Task Force Lynchpin, stitched together now from parts of four squads, featured nearly every weapon in the Hunter arsenal—busters, lasers, magrifles, explosives, and a variety of one-off exotic weapons. Every shot hit home into something worth hitting. In seconds, explosions were blossoming throughout the convoy, each one catapulting pieces of transport and soldier into the air, but providing no relief—neither cover nor space to move—for the surrounding Repliforce soldiers.

There was almost no return fire. The soldiers were packed in too tightly and under too much fire to organize, move, limber up, or aim effectively. Signas took care to put down any potential leaders or would-be heroes quickly; no organization or resistance could materialize.

No Hunters held back. Signas and Alia had arranged a double-load of ammunition, tapping into the Hunters' emergency reserve to do it, but what was an emergency reserve for if not this? And the benefit was that every Hunter was blazing away with the firepower of three.

Signas took a break to grab the radio. "Base, Lynchpin. Funnel plugged. Repliforce bagged. Have Ninth begin counter-attack."

 _"Lynchpin, Base, roger."_

 _"Base, Ninth, we heard. On the way."_

 _Good_ , thought Signas as he replaced the radio. _No time wasted._ He saw, behind the main area of destruction, other vehicles turning—trying to find bypasses east or west. He wasn't bothered by that. The ones fleeing west would run into Fifth Squad's backup bottleneck. The ones fleeing east would run into Ninth Squad, which was even now sweeping around to hit this mass from the side.

There would be no escape.

That just left completing the work here.

To Signas' right, there was a roaring sound as a particularly large weapon belched death, and an explosion in the funnel answered. There was, Signas reflected, value in blunt instruments. But, he thought as he shot the buster right out of a soldier's hands, scalpels were plenty useful, too.

* * *

The radio was full of cries of terror and despair, pleas for help and support, reports of overruns and routs as half a dozen battles turned very badly all at once…

General couldn't stand it.

He was embarrassed to be in one of the lead vehicles, embarrassed to be one of the few who had safely cleared the city. He should be there, with his soldiers, suffering with them, leading them on to safety.

Instead, all he could do was listen to them die.

There was no more coordinating to be done. Order was disintegrating. Organization was a lost cause at this point. Only one command made sense. He swapped frequencies and went to the override-all channel. "Repliforce, this is General. _Sauve qui peut_. Disengage and run. We will hold at the spaceport for as long as we can. _Sauve qui peut._ "

And that was it.

 _Save himself who can._ The ultimate mortification for an honor-bound organization. But there was nothing for it. There was no time to disengage, reorganize, and fight their way through. Time was up. They had to run for it, and hope survivors could make their way to the spaceport before the launch window closed. Unless, of course, the Hunters killed them all on the way.

Not including the unworthy General, who had slipped out just before door had slammed shut.

 _I don't deserve this,_ he thought bitterly.

He stewed in silence as the spires of the spaceport crawled into view.

* * *

"The Seventeenth is moving into position outside the space port. They're out of range so far, but the Repliforce soldiers occupying the spaceport have noticed them. They're shadowing the Seventeenth's every move. No attack can go unopposed."

"The Seventeenth needs to engage as soon as possible," Grant insisted. "Time was on our side before, but it's against us now."

"Sir," Alia said more stiffly, "the Seventeenth is short its squad leader. I don't know where X is. That steals a lot of the Seventeenth's combat power. On the other hand, the force that seized the spaceport is large. It's the Honor Guard, the most expensive soldiers Repliforce has. And it has Colonel at its head. As good as the Seventeenth is, they're not taking that on by themselves, certainly not if they're rushing."

"Which is why I wanted Colonel killed earlier," Grant said venomously in Iris' direction. The junior operator, buried in her noise-canceling headphones, was oblivious to it. "What about Zero? Is he in position yet?"

"We're bringing him in as quickly as we can, but he only just boarded the bee blader," Alia replied. "It'll take him at least fifteen minutes to get to the spaceport. Remember, he was rolling up Repliforce's rear. He can't just instantly get in front of them.

"The Zeroth is coming online also," she went on, "but the Seventeenth and the Zeroth would just let us match the Honor Guard. That'd be a long, hard fight. My only other recourse would be X, but I don't know where he is right now."

"He's completing a separate mission," Grant replied. "A classified mission. You don't need to know."

That gave her pause. While Alia, as senior Operator, had clearance to access almost all classified information pertaining to Maverick Hunting, a clearance wasn't enough—one also "needed to know". "If it's making X unavailable when I need him, I think I have a need to know," she replied.

"You don't," Grant asserted. "That is all."

Alia looked like she wanted to argue further, but there were so many other things she had to do. She turned back to her console and went back to directing squads, directing traffic, directing the scope of the Hunter counter-attack that was sweeping Repliforce in front of it.

But she did not forget.

* * *

Zero swayed as the bee blader banked. _"One more,"_ Iris said over the radio. _"Right side, two-seven seconds."_

"Roger," Zero replied. He shifted as best he could with the wind howling all around him, moved to the right side of the bee blader, and prepped his Z-buster. In his head he counted down seconds.

The bee blader wasn't made to support its passengers fighting from it, but then it wasn't made to carry passengers in the first place. Zero could make do. He braced his feet, aimed his buster out the open back of the bee blader's abdomen, and waited.

The targets would only be there for a moment…

 _"Five seconds."_

And there they were. Zero fired before he fully appreciated all the nuances of the scene—one large charged shot, three smaller pelting shots, coming down at an angle that was seldom well-armored on reploids or vehicles. He felt a rush of thrill, was gratified by the blossoming of fire below him. Then the bee blader had swept over the next row of buildings, and the targets were gone.

It was only afterwards that Zero could process what he'd seen. It was a running battle, with a Hunter detachment chasing down a unit of Repliforce that was trying to avoid the main gauntlet. As long as Repliforce had been trying to fight and push the Hunters aside, they were a mortal threat. Now that they were just trying to run, to escape, they were merely scrap in a grinder.

Killing them wasn't much of a challenge, but the act itself was always fun, and the difficulty of shooting from the bee blader made it entertaining enough.

Well, killing was usually fun. It was usually entertaining.

It had distracted him, at least. Without it…

"Any more targets?" Zero said hopefully.

 _"I could circle you back around,"_ Iris offered.

That didn't seem right. "What were my orders?" Zero asked, not looking forward to the answer.

 _"To… to go to the spaceport and break the Repliforce line there."_

"Are we doing that?"

There was a long silence, then the bee blader tilted as it changed its course. _"Yes,"_ Iris said miserably.

"What's going on?" Zero asked.

 _"Colonel is the line at the spaceport. 'Breaking the line' means killing my brother."_

Once more, Zero felt the disorientation that had taken all the fun out of this war. For so long, Zero had gloried in killing, and X had gone against that instinct. It was X who told him not to kill more than he needed to, and not to enjoy it because killing isn't good, and so on. It helped Zero feel like he wasn't the Red Demon, to have a voice that could remind him of these things, and be able to choose to listen.

This time around, it was the voice that sounded like X saying 'kill', and Zero's inside-voice that was resisting, saying it was wrong. Wasteful, maybe. Mostly just wrong.

He didn't know how to put it any other way.

He didn't want to kill Colonel. He was being sped along on his mission to kill Colonel. Neither he nor Iris knew how to stop it.

Realization hit. "Me strafing these Repliforce runners… that wasn't part of our mission. You sent me to do it because it wasted…" he did some quick math, "…seven minutes compared to a straight line to the spaceport. You knew I wouldn't object because it was fun."

It took long seconds before Iris answered; when she did, her voice was barely holding its composure. _"Other people matter. That's my central truth—the fact ground into who I am, how I think, why I exist. They matter whether I like it or not, whether I like them or not. I can't avoid it._

 _"There are two people, though… two people who matter to me because that's my choice. You, and Colonel. I don't have much of a will, Zero. It took everything I had to make that choice. It's a small choice, but it's mine._

 _"That's why this is breaking me. I'm okay with you killing Repliforce. Kill them all, for all I care. But… I can't be okay with you killing Colonel, or Colonel killing you. If that happens, there's nothing left of me. I… I truly don't matter, then. There is no Iris. Just other people."_

Zero could find no answer.

 _"Talk to me!"_ Iris begged. _"I can't see you, and if you don't talk I can't feel you at all. Talk to me, Zero! Please!"_

"What should I do?" Zero said in an uncharacteristically small voice.

 _"You want_ me _to tell_ you _? Zero, don't you remember who I am? Did you ever know?"_

"You're Iris," he managed.

 _"Yes,"_ she said, and the definitiveness in her voice was unnerving. _"Yes, I am. So it's like I said when the war started, isn't it? Grant will order me, and I can't resist. X will order you, and you won't resist. Colonel will die, and I will break. Everyone else gets what they want."_

"X doesn't want anyone to die," Zero struggled to say, "he wants…"

 _"If this isn't what he wanted, he'd change!"_ Iris said with a sob. _"He has that power! I don't! He doesn't care… what does he know? What does he know about anything?"_

("Why's she crying? Doesn't she know there's a war on?"

"She can't help herself. Leave her be.")

 _"Please, Zero,"_ Iris said. _"When you meet Colonel, just… remember me, please? I know your memory has problems, but… if I ever meant anything to you, please remember me…"_

"I will," Zero promised, but even he felt his voice was hollow. He couldn't promise anything of the sort.

 _"Thank you."_

Sometimes Zero craved having empathy—even a glimmer of it. He desperately wanted to know whether she meant her 'thank you' or not. He had no way to tell. "I chose to make you matter to me, too," he said.

 _"You really think that's true,"_ she said.

Zero blinked. "Huh?"

 _"Two minutes,"_ she said. _"The bee blader will be out of fuel when you get there, so the landing might be rough. Stand by."_

The change gave him whiplash. "I'd rather keep talking to you," he said.

 _"Then do that,"_ she urged.

 _"_ _Zero?"_

Rekir's voice, over a Hunter working channel- not Zero's private Iris channel. Wincing, Zero shifted over, knowing Iris would hear him when he did. "Report."

 _"_ _We've arrived at the spaceport. Repliforce's Honor Guard is shadowing us. Every time we probe, they demonstrate against us. Colonel's with them. I don't like our odds if they force a fight."_

Zero knew there was expectation there. Rekir was asking Zero to fill his usual role. Sword and shield for those who cannot protect themselves, he—dimly, against all odds—remembered. He couldn't think of where he remembered it from. X? Maybe. It was the sort of thing X would say.

But what did he know?

"Coming," Zero said- automatically, thoughtlessly, ashamedly.

* * *

 _Next time: Stand_


	13. Stand

Colonel's hand did not tremble as he held the radio receiver. It was steady as steady could be. "Romeo, Uniform, November," he said.

" _Are you sure?"_ General's voice. Colonel could hear his last hopes breaking.

"Zero has arrived," Colonel said with finality.

"… _I see."_

"I will hold him while you escape with the others," Colonel declared.

" _And no one else is coming?"_

"All I see outside the gates are Hunters. If any of our brothers are still alive, none of them have gotten here in time."

A sigh. " _I understand. We'll begin final launch preps. We'll leave one shuttle for the Honor Guard."_

"We won't need it," Colonel said. "Burn it."

" _I know you can't come with us, Colonel, but the Honor Guard can."_

"You're very thoughtful and considerate, General," Colonel said. "I am proud to have served under you."

" _Colonel…"_

"Romeo, Uniform, November," Colonel said again, and turned the radio off.

It was time to meet his destiny. It was shining so brightly. Even the negative emotions coming from Iris couldn't touch him now. It was so clear. So simple.

He was calm. At ease. His circuits were moving slowly, as if soaking in his final moments. The whole world around was waiting for him to take his place. He wasn't scared anymore, if he'd ever been. This was the moment he'd been created for.

He reached for his weapon. He knew Zero was reaching for his.

* * *

 _"Seventeenth will provide covering fire for Zeroth. Zero is in position to lead the charge and counter Colonel. Zeroth, begin your attack."_

"Roger," said Rekir. He took stock of his situation. He was ready, the Zeroth was ready, the Seventeenth was ready, and they had a good plan. His danger sense was thrumming, but at a comfortable level, from general rather than specific threats. He understood why, and agreed with its assessment.

Time to end the war, then.

"Lux," he said, "cover us."

The reploid nodded, and hurled into the air a couple of custom, personal mechaniloids. They attracted fire immediately—the Honor Guard was a sharp bunch, for Repliforce—but just as quickly they started flashing, emitting painfully bright flashes in the direction of the weapons fire. The fire slackened. The heavy batteries of the Seventeenth began to boom and sizzle; the fire from the Honor Guard ceased altogether.

Rekir palmed a grenade. "Now," he said, and he moved.

* * *

Zero knew 'his' squad was charging elsewhere on the perimeter. It was hardly relevant.

Colonel was in front of him.

Blocking the gates to the spaceport, all by himself. As if he thought he could hold the Hunters back with sheer bravery and self-belief. The trouble was… Zero had seen that kind of bravery before. It had never held him back.

" _Please, Zero,"_ said Iris, sobbing over the radio. _"Please…"_

"Order me to stop," said Zero. "Please, order me to stop…"

She couldn't. He couldn't. Silence descended on the radio.

Zero had stopped running. He heard, distantly, the rising whine and rumble of powerful machines roused to action. Meaningless. Dismissed. He walked, at his own pace, towards his friend.

Now _that_ was an exclusive club.

Step. Step. Step. Colonel never moved. Why would he? He was where he needed to be. Zero was sure that Colonel would move to get in his way if he tried to get around, to come into the base by some other route. Better to be direct, then. Better to save them both time and effort. They needed both for their battle.

Though if time was such a big deal, why was he walking?

Step. Step.

Into comfortable talking distance. Closer. Just outside melee range.

Stop.

"Thank you for coming, Zero," said Colonel.

"Why?" said Zero.

"With your help, I will enter into glory," Colonel said. "We will carve my name into history, together. You will help me achieve immortality."

"Immortality?" said Zero. "If you try to stop me, you'll die."

"Of course," said Colonel. "I've known what my fate would be since we declared independence. My destiny was pre-determined."

 _X would say there's no such thing,_ Zero knew. He grasped for that dim, distant idea. "You could run."

"I have to stay in comms range of Iris, remember?" Colonel said, tapping his head. "Conjoined brains. Where Repliforce is going, I cannot follow. Instead… I am Leonidas."

Zero tried to step at an angle, as if to move around Colonel. Colonel angrily shifted, barred his way. "I am Crockett!" he bellowed. "I am Saigo! I am the Tin Can Sailors! This far, Zero, and no farther."

"I'll kill you," Zero said. "There's no glory waiting for you. Just oblivion."

"Tell that to the French Foreign Legion," Colonel said smugly.

"You'll make Iris cry," Zero said.

"Her fate was ordained the moment we were activated," Colonel shot back. "The same as mine. Robotics is the science of creating a being that serves a purpose. A robot's fate is part of its design. I am at peace with that."

"She doesn't think so. She's not at peace. You can hear her, can't you? You can hear her crying."

That just seemed to touch off Colonel's temper again. "Rome! Cameron! Rorke's Drift! Bastogne!"

Zero shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what those are."

With a snarl, Colonel ignited his saber. "Fight me, Zero. To the death, this time. No more draws. This was going to be my end, one way or another. Make it a worthy one."

Zero thought of all the Mavericks he'd killed. He thought of how they lived on only as faded copies of themselves in the combat simulator. "This is stupid," he said.

Enraged, Colonel charged.

Enervated as he was, Zero still had the reflexes to block the attack. Sabers crackled against each other, energy trying to slice energy and failing. "Familiar yet?" Colonel said with a savage smile. He put his weight behind his saber, hoping to follow the usual pattern and push Zero off balance.

It sparked anger inside of Zero. The first time he'd ever _thought_ of being charitable had led this fool to _presume_...

X had warned him that this would happen.

Anger and embarrassment coursed through Zero, animated his pseudo-muscles. He applied a greater portion of his true strength, and held Colonel to a standstill.

Surprise flickered across Colonel's face. He put even more of his strength and weight into the balance. Zero matched him for a moment, to prove he could, then stepped out of the way. Colonel stumbled, barely retaining his feet; Zero could have hit him twice before he readied.

"Do you see, yet?" Zero said. "Get out of my way!"

"Death before dishonor!" Colonel roared, and swept towards Zero. Zero didn't wait. He stepped in, lunging low, well below where Colonel could threaten him. A sharp blow from the butt of his saber sent Colonel reeling; Zero's momentum carried him past and out.

"Don't turn your back on me," Colonel growled, and lunged to skewer Zero. In a flurry of blonde hair, Zero whirled around the tip of Colonel's saber. His reach, though shorter than Colonel's, was still enough to bite into Colonel's leg.

Colonel recovered clumsily. The wound wasn't much, but it did rob him of some strength. "Stand down," Zero said.

Colonel didn't answer. He raised his saber for a downwards sweep.

Zero parried it effortlessly and replied. For a moment Colonel's face lit up with hope- this was more familiar, a straight duel of swordsmanship and skill. He tried to restore the familiar patterns, go on the offensive, impose himself on Zero. It lasted all of three exchanges before he found himself desperately fending off a lashing thrust. Before he could even think of further aggression, Zero was pressing his advantage. Each move was faster than the one before it; with each clash Colonel fell further and further behind, until bare point defense was all he could manage, and that not well.

A feint forced Colonel to overreact. Zero pounced; the blur of his saber made lightning seem slow. A superficial slash across Colonel's chest stung him; as Zero disengaged he cut deeply into Colonel's other leg. Colonel staggered, no longer able to stand properly but too proud to kneel or support himself.

" _Now_ do you see?" Zero demanded.

"So you held me in contempt," Colonel spat. "All this time you disguised your true strength. You lied to me every time we sparred. You have no honor at all!"

"Do you know how hard it was for me to do that? To hold back?" Zero said. "I was trying to… I don't know, help you. Be nice, or… something." He shook his head in confusion. "Even now! I've never offered to let someone live. Do you get how hard this is for me?"

"Yes, I can see you struggling as you cut me to ribbons," Colonel scoffed. "Keep your eyes on me or I'll make you pay."

"You can't win," Zero said.

"You still don't get it," Colonel said. "It's not about whether I win or lose. It's about how I live, and how I die… still swinging, right to the bitter end."

"I've heard those words before," Zero said. "A hundred times, from a hundred defiant Mavericks. They're dead now, and I'm still here. They were wrong, just like you. Winning is the only thing that matters."

Colonel forced himself to stand straight and cocked his head arrogantly. "If you think that, then you're not the warrior I respected. You're something… _less_ , no matter how strong you are." He laughed humorlessly. "I suppose we never understood each other after all."

Zero had no rebuttal. He had no defense. Understanding people wasn't one of his functions.

Colonel raised his saber. "Come on, Maverick Hunter," he sneered.

Zero closed his eyes. Colonel had to know what he was asking. There were no other choices for Zero. No other responses. He gathered himself. "As you wish… Maverick."

 _I'm sorry, Iris,_ they both thought.

The spaceport's speakers blared a warning—crescendoing and rising in pitch, and then hovering at a high, dissonant peak.

Zero's eyes snapped open, his arm snapped up, and his buster fired.

It caught Colonel completely off-guard, for Zero had never once shown him that weapon. The two shots caused Colonel to stagger backwards, and Zero chased the plasma in. Blindly Colonel lashed out with his saber. A blow from Zero knocked the saber out of Colonel's hand, up into the air. When Colonel looked up to try and track it, he took his eyes off of Zero.

Zero used that moment to step inside Colonel's grasp and bury his beam saber in the reploid's chest.

Colonel's saber clattered to the ground out of reach.

Colonel managed to sneer despite being impaled. "Even someone without honor... can deliver me to glory."

"I told you I would win," Zero said unhappily.

"You didn't win," Colonel replied. "I did. You don't get it. But then... you wouldn't."

Behind him, there was a roar—not just loud, but vast. A shuttle appeared from behind the spaceport's buildings, clawing for the sky, lighting up the world as it soared upwards and upwards.

"Repliforce will live on amongst the stars," Colonel said. "My sacrifice guarantees it. Eternal glory is mine. Tell Iris that her brother died happily." He smiled. "Glory to Repliforce, now and forever!"

His body blew itself apart.

The explosion embraced Zero. He was lost in it.

* * *

A piercing shriek tore through the watch floor.

Iris hit the floor like a bag of scrap. Her limbs flailed senselessly, crashing against the floor, the wall, and the consoles around. Her mouth and eyes couldn't be any wider open. The shriek carried on for ten ear-splitting seconds before an automatic override cut it out. Her spasming continued, unaffected.

"Don't touch her!" Alia ordered, fending off the bystanders that were approaching too closely. "Don't try to stop a seizure, you'll hurt her and yourself both. I've got a medic coming. Focus on the mission!"

"How cold," Grant observed.

"This is compassion," Alia said over her shoulder. "The medic can reset her physical systems. None of us can. We would hurt her more than help… hold on. Let me put this on speaker. Rekir, Base, say again."

 _"Base, Rekir. I have shuttle liftoff. Repeat, I have shuttle liftoff—woah! One moment."_

It was several seconds before his voice returned. _"Sorry. One of those Honor Guards wasn't as dead as he looked. He is now, though."_

"Confirm shuttle liftoff," Alia said calmly.

Over the radio came a rumbling sound, like a herd of boulders rolling down a ramp. _"Confirmed,"_ came a distant-sounding Rekir's voice. Alia knew he'd swapped to the radio's main transceiver rather than use the handset. It was usually used when Hunters had no hands to spare, but it was good at conveying atmospherics, too.

"This is Commander Grant," the human said, cutting in on the radio. "Find Zero. Take Zeroth and Seventeenth Squads into the spaceport. Find out if there are any other shuttles left."

 _"Base, Rekir, roger."_

"So that they can follow?" Alia asked.

"That's right," said Grant.

"Sir," piped in Double, "I've been working with the Seventeenth. They've been in combat for hours without a break. They're low on energy and ammunition."

"Then resupply them," Grant said.

"On it," said Double. With that he discarded his headphones and scurried off of the watch floor.

"Respectfully, sir," said Alia, undistracted, "where could Repliforce go that we can't reach without a shuttle? Unless… unless you think they wanted to take over Eurasia."

"Not Eurasia," Grant said grimly.

"Not…" Alia began, then cocked her head. "Permission granted," she said, then looked back to Grant more brightly. "Sir," she said, "X is on approach."

* * *

"Sir!" Rekir called.

Zero didn't move, or make any sign that he had heard. Rekir jogged up to his boss, alertly glancing around as he moved. No, no danger he could see. The Honor Guard had held their positions tenaciously, and died in them. None of them had thought of falling back- which meant that, by now, none of them were alive. Everyone else had made it to the shuttle and taken off. There was nothing left of Repliforce here.

But Zeroth would need Zero to give chase to the survivors. "Sir," Rekir called again, much closer this time. He could make out differences in his boss' usual appearance. He looked mussed. He was standing stock-still—not unusual—but he looked slack, somehow. Typical Zero was always slightly tense, always ready to spring into combat at the first indication of danger. This Zero felt spent, like there was less of him than there usually was.

It didn't help that he had ash and char in a thin coat over his front, and had apparently not moved much since getting this dusting.

There was a blackened lump at Zero's feet. What was left of some dead enemy, Rekir supposed, though there wasn't enough left to tell what it had been. The explosion had spared little. That grade of blast at that range would have severely inconvenienced Rekir. It didn't seem to have done anything to Zero.

Anything physical, Rekir decided.

"Boss," he said, quietly. "Are you alright?"

"I can't raise Iris," the warbot replied.

"I'll try when we get back to a radio," Rekir promised.

"I think I killed her," Zero said.

"That wasn't her, was it?" asked Rekir, pointing at the blast's epicenter.

"No," said Zero. "Just a fool who wanted to live forever."

"Then he shouldn't have fought you," Rekir said. "Duh."

"I don't understand anything," Zero said in tones even Rekir had never heard before.

Unnerved, Rekir tried to refocus on the mission. "Are you damaged?"

"No."

"Then we have to move on. Base wants us to see if there are any other operational shuttles. We need to follow what's left of Repliforce."

"To make sure they don't live on," Zero said.

Rekir knew there was meaning there—meaning he didn't understand. He'd long-ago given up on trying to know what Zero was thinking, but at least he'd been able to predict Zero a little. Not anymore. Not since Iris.

Who was… dead?

Even Zero deserved pity. "I'll take Zeroth into the spaceport," Rekir said. "Seventeenth is joining us. Come along when you're ready."

He gave Zero a chance to follow, but the squad leader made no move. Rekir went on ahead of him. There were, he reflected, few things more dangerous than prying into Zero's privacy.

* * *

The medic was two-thirds of the way back to the medical bay when the flailing began anew.

He hefted the fallen Operator off of his shoulder and tried to set her down gently, but she twisted and surged out of his grip. Alarmed, he backed up a step. To his surprise, the Operator didn't fall. She swayed, staggered, and slumped, and for all of that she stayed upright. Her back was arched and her head was hanging down so her face was out of sight, but she kept her feet.

"Are you okay?" the medic asked.

There was an impossible laugh in reply—a laugh that jittered across octaves and intonations, one that conveyed no humor or fellowship at all. Slowly, the Operator's back straightened, until at last her face could be seen again.

Her eyes were over-dilated and manic. Her smile was an Escher painting.

"What do you think?" asked Iris.

And then the medic's world came to an end.

* * *

 _Next time: Betrayal_


	14. Betrayal

General had never imagined there were so many stars.

It seemed impossible. He'd rarely looked at the sky in his short life, and when he had, he'd never seen anything like this. (He hadn't heard of light pollution. This was typical. He was ignorant of many of the things that shaped his perceptions and realities.)

There were so many stars, he thought. Not just points of light, but shifting, twinkling mysteries, in far more colors than he'd expected, from the brightest blues to the dullest reds. And there was more, besides—clusters and clouds and planets and more things than he'd ever expected to see.

Paradox. How can space be so empty when there's so much in it?

And it was so very quiet.

That, at least, he understood. The mood in the shuttle was beyond somber. They'd fit all of Repliforce's survivors into a single shuttle. Fewer than forty had gotten away. Not one in ten… if you counted the support staff, not even one reploid in twenty had made it to the shuttle. The rest were abandoned, killed in action, or worse.

General had known from the beginning that losses would be high, but he'd been completely unprepared for this.

He'd been ready to lose Colonel—Colonel had explained to him that inevitability. But he hadn't been prepared to lose the whole Honor Guard in the process. He hadn't been prepared to lose every section chief, every officer but one, every Lancer but two. He hadn't been prepared for so many to die.

A better general would have kept more alive. A better general would not have been compelled to declare _sauve qui peut_ , and watch even that gambit do little more than accelerate the slaughter. A better general would have made of Repliforce a nation, not a hamlet.

But Repliforce didn't have a better general. All they had was unworthy him. The fact that they still followed, still respected, still obeyed, still… trusted…

 _I don't deserve this._

It overwhelmed him.

It was the only thing that kept him moving forward. If he could save these forty, that would make it all worth it.

"Remember," he said, breaking the silence, "that we're not done yet. One more battle remains. Avoid killing unnecessarily—we still have our pride to uphold. But move carefully, and protect each other. That's what's most important."

The soldiers all showed affirmation, one way or another.

"I will lead the way," General promised. "If any more danger falls on us, let it fall on me first. I couldn't do more for our brothers… but I will do everything I can for you."

It had to be this way, he knew. Only a handful of the passengers were soldiers, and of those only a few still carried weapons—their other arms had been discarded to save time, space, or weight. Still, it sounded noble enough. It was in character. He saw acceptance in the audience. They bought it. He wasn't just a failure, then—he was also a fraud.

He looked out the window again, at the astounding starscape, the infinite emptiness. There was room for them, wasn't there? Room for a few dozen refugees. It was such a big universe.

Let the humans and the Hunters have their Earth. They could keep it. Let Repliforce be lost amongst the stars.

The shuttle drifted on, its destination certain and singular.

* * *

X walked on to the watch floor. He went without pausing to Grant. Grant noticed him before he got there. "Turn around and go back out," Grant ordered. "You have to get to the spaceport…"

"Before that," X said, "I have to make my report."

"A report you couldn't make over normal channels?" Alia said, suddenly interested.

"Mind your business," said Grant sharply. "Very well then, X. Report."

"Mission complete," X said.

"No it's not," objected Alia. "Repliforce is still out there. We're computing the trajectory of the shuttle, and…"

She trailed off when she saw understanding pass between X and Grant. Frustration swelled up in her. Secret missions at a time like _this_?

She didn't know the half of it. X hadn't mentioned his detour to his quarters, or the handful of memory chips that were now securely and secretly held in a special carrying case. Rising Fire wasn't the only weapon X had taken from Magma Dragoon.

"Thank you for your report," Grant said icily, "but it could have waited. I need you, now, to go to the spaceport. You have to board any operational shuttle and take off after Repliforce."

"We still don't know where they're going," said Alia.

"I do," said Grant.

"You do?"

"Yes," confirmed Grant. "They're going to Final Weapon."

Neither X nor Alia had an immediate response to that. Neither did anyone else on the watch floor, even though everyone was listening in on this conversation.

"Final Weapon?" said X, and many were surprised to hear a hint of anger in his voice.

"Look, I didn't name it," said Grant.

"What's Final Weapon?"

"An until-now-classified government project to build a mass driver in orbit," said Grant.

"A mass driver?" said X incredulously.

"Yes," said Grant. "It was supposed to be used to give Repliforce on-call fire support."

"And now they're going to use it for exactly that purpose," Alia said. "Do I need to start an evacuation before they turn Hunter Base to glass?"

"It's not online yet," said Grant. "It'll be another few hours before it's ready to fire."

The pieces clicked together. "This was why you wanted a delaying strategy," Alia accused. "You wanted to delay Repliforce until Final Weapon came online, then use it to blast them out of existence."

"Yes," Grant said bluntly. "That was the plan."

"And you didn't tell anyone about it," said Alia. "We were making plans and giving orders in the dark. You kept us blind to your intent."

"That was my prerogative under the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" X said, making it sound like an accusation.

"Don't you know from operations security?" Grant said scornfully.

X took a step forward—the most threatening gesture most of the crowd had ever seen from him. "I _wrote_ the Hunter OpSec manual!"

"Then you understand," said Grant, unimpressed. "You know one reason why I had to keep this information close to the vest. Any insecurity of transmissions- anything that tipped our hand that we were planning to use Final Weapon- and we'd have given the plan away to Repliforce. That would have made this war much harder."

"Transmissions security doesn't apply here on the watch floor," Alia said, eyes narrowing.

X nodded in agreement. "That's a bad reason, Commander. I hope your others are better."

"Watch your tongue, robot," sniped Grant.

The room grew very quiet.

"You know the other reason," Grant murmured softly, as if for X's ears alone. "You know why, right now, we must be very careful to follow all government rules. Why we have to make a great show of meticulous loyalty."

X's mind flew back again to a hidden case holding memory chips. Memory chips that would put paid to any notion of "meticulous loyalty" from the Hunters.

"I'm the only person in the Hunters cleared to know about Final Weapon," Grant went on. "If you all knew about it when you weren't supposed to... I mean, we _just_ declared Repliforce Maverick for breaking government policies. I couldn't let the same thing happen to us Hunters."

"But that doesn't pass muster," X objected. "Even if you'd kept the secret perfectly, you still would have blown it the moment you started firing from Final Weapon." He frowned. "The moment… you… started firing from Final Weapon…" He looked up. "You wanted Final Weapon for the Hunters, didn't you?"

"If it was already built, we'd be fools not to use it for its designed purpose," said Grant.

"You actually wanted this war," said X, vibrating with anger. "You already wanted Repliforce gone because of money and politics. Final Weapon tipped the scales. From then on, you were looking for any excuse. I did everything I could to try and stop this war, but you helped it along. You interpreted Repliforce's every action in the most sinister possible light. Why? Because they had to die so you could loot their toys."

"Don't get sanctimonious with me about using the weapons of the dead, _Mega Man X_ ," Grant sneered.

"Yes," X whispered as he went still. "That is who I am, isn't it?"

The room shifted, almost imperceptibly, in that moment. If Alia didn't know better she would have sworn she felt a breeze.

X looked over to Alia. "Are there any shuttles left at the spaceport, or did Repliforce destroy them all?"

"They left one, according to the Zeroth," she answered.

"That's my ride, then. Prepare a transport to take me there."

"It'll be ready before you get to the hangar," was the reply.

"Where's Double?" X asked with a frown.

"Taking supplies to the Seventeenth," Alia said. "Why?"

X shook his head. "Later. Commander, how long until Final Weapon is ready to fire?"

"Five hours and six minutes," Grant answered. Suspicion laced his voice.

"No time for a recharge, then," said X. "I'll just have to rely on e-tanks. My mission is to go to Final Weapon. I will keep Repliforce from firing it, if I can. Before things get even worse. And when this is over, you and I will talk... policy. And chain of command. And the future of Hunter leadership."

He moved out of the watch floor.

In his wake, one operator whispered to another, "He sure acts like a commander sometimes, doesn't he?"

"If only he would all the time."

X heard more than he let on. But he didn't hear everything.

* * *

"Woah, woah—take cover!"

The three members of the Seventeenth Squad dodged out of the way as the transport, hover engines howling, slid into the hangar. As soon as it touched down they stormed over to it. Its cargo door dropped open, revealing Double and a crate.

"You maniac!" complained the leader of the trio. "Don't you realize that this shuttle is on hot standby? It can launch in two minutes, unless some idiot smashes it, and it's our only way to follow Repliforce!"

"I didn't realize—whoops!" The crate slid down the transport's ramp, uncontrolled; Double tumbled after it. His crash made the Hunters wince as much in embarrassment as in sympathy. "At least I brought you these supplies," he said, patting the crate and pulling himself to his feet.

Intrigued and power-starved, the Hunters approached the crate. The lead palmed the crate open. His expression immediately soured. "Radios?" he exclaimed. "You brought us a crate of radios!"

"Did I?" said Double dully. He sidled up next to the Hunters to look into the crate with them.

"We don't need more radios, you idiot, we need e-tanks and ammunition!"

"Thanks for nothing," said another Hunter.

"Ohhhh," said Double sheepishly. He put a hand behind his head with a goofy, apologetic grin. "Sorry about this!"

And then something strange began to happen.

Double's form began to glow slightly. His mass seemed to become molten, to flow into a new form. His size didn't change, and his frame didn't change, but his shape became something entirely different.

"Sorry about this," he said again.

The Hunters stood still, unreacting except to gape. What they were seeing wasn't possible. The only thing they could do was watch it happen.

Double's transformation continued before their stricken eyes. The round, unthreatening mass of his torso slimmed, distributed into a sleeker form. His legs thickened, and his forearms bulked up into the heavily armored, weapons-housing forearms of a combat reploid.

"Sorry about this," he said one last time, voice dripping with irony.

The Hunters had a split second to react. They couldn't get there. Cognitive dissonance is so very powerful. It freezes the mind, anchors the legs. When the dissonance is because a harmless thing has suddenly become a dangerous thing, it petrifies as surely as a basilisk's stare.

A mortal threat was right next to the Hunters, they had let it get there, and the only thought that could fit into their heads was the terror-laced certainty that they were about to die.

Which was correct.

Double brought his hand out from behind his head. As he did, a beam of energy surged out from his wrist. It sliced into the nearest Hunter, cleaving him open. Another stroke separated the second Hunter's head from his shoulders.

The third Hunter had a chance to react. Unfortunately, as fear-wracked as he was, the instinct that prevailed was the instinct to run.

He didn't make it far. Double stabbed him in the back and rode him to the ground. When they landed, Double pinned his victim down and stabbed, and stabbed again, and again, and again until the last of the Hunter's death spasms stilled.

Satisfied, Double stood, and laughed. "Thank you for delivering me such a lovely magnet," he said to the corpses around him. "Let's see whom we can attract with it."

* * *

"Welcome to Final Weapon," said the human. "I'm Bob Anderson. I'm in charge here for the next minute or two, until you lot are ready to say otherwise. I'd shake your hand, but it doesn't look like that'd work."

"You're… friendly," said General, off-balance.

"Not much point in bein' anything else," the human replied. "My orders were to resist to the last, but I ain't got squat to resist _with_ , so I figure I've followed orders well enough for today."

General smiled. "I'm glad to finally encounter someone reasonable. I was starting to believe they didn't exist."

Bob laughed. "What's it say to you that ya had to leave Earth before it happened?"

"Plenty," said General with a sigh. He looked to his side. "Reconnoiter. It should be safe. Report back in ten."

"Roger," said one of the few remaining soldiers, and with three more at his back he set off deeper into Final Weapon.

"It's safe," said Bob. "I'd face a union grievance if it weren't."

An all-human construction crew, General remembered. Hopefully that meant there were plenty of facilities they could discard and convert, to make room for Repliforce's full complement of survivors.

"When will the weapon be ready?" General asked.

Bob looked disappointed. "Ya had to go an' ask about that, didn't ya?"

"It is rather the reason we came," said General drily. "If we'd stayed on Earth, this weapon would have been our doom. With it in our possession, we can deter Earth from chasing us. Despite our appearance, I'd really rather have peace now."

"You lot do look like you've had a good shellackin'," said Bob.

"So when will it be ready?" General asked patiently.

"That depends," said Bob.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you'll be lettin' mah folks go home."

"Absolutely," said General. "We don't need any more killing, and, frankly, you're in the way. I do need you to teach me how to use the weapon, first."

"That's a big ask. Why?"

"So that we can defend ourselves."

Bob leaned in confidentially. "How 'bout this?" he said. "How 'bout I _don't_ teach you how to use the weapon, but I tell the world ya figured it out on yer own?"

General frowned. "So that they believe we can defend ourselves."

"But I don't get in trouble for sleepin' with the enemy. And we get out of your hair—er, hands—faster, which is a win for both of us."

"Will they believe that?"

"The controls ain't exactly complex. They'll buy it."

General looked up. "Where were you when this war was starting?"

"Up here in space," laughed Bob. "Things are simple up here in space. They gotta be. Lemme tell ya, when you spend all day within a few millimeters of hard vacuum, there ain't no room for misunderstandin'."

"The terms of your surrender, then," said General formally. "Pending a satisfactory result from my recon team, we will take possession of Final Weapon. All of your people will board the shuttle and take it back to Earth. Upon your arrival, you will inform the human government that Repliforce possesses Final Weapon and knows how to use it, but will only use it in self-defense."

"You got a deal," said Bob.

General smiled. "That went more smoothly than I could have expected."

"I told you, it's from bein' here in space," said Bob. "You'll see. If you live long up here, you'll experience… clarity." Bob nodded. "You'll see."

"I hope so," said General.

* * *

Rekir knew this feeling. It was fuzzy, formless, unfocused- and yet Rekir had survived three wars and countless firefights by always listening to it.

 _Danger._

"Something's not right," he said.

Des, a fellow Zeroth Squad Hunter, looked to him. "What do you mean, sir?"

Rekir frowned as they approached the mouth of the hangar. A Hunter transport was sitting lengthwise across the mouth of it, blocking most of his vision inside. "Tell me again what you were told," he said.

"That a Hunter transport was here to resupply us before we continue our mission," Des said. "They ordered us to rotate assignments around and come here for resupply a few at a time, to make sure our perimeter stays strong."

It sounded reasonable. It sounded fine.

It felt wrong.

Still Rekir's momentum carried him into the hangar. Around the side of the transport. There was a crate of supplies, at the bottom of the transport's cargo ramp—made perfect sense. And there was a Hunter beside it, ready to disburse—

A shot rang out.

It took Double off of his feet with a yelp of surprise and pain.

Instinct had demanded it of Rekir, and he had obeyed, even if he didn't know why.

"Sir!" said Des, grabbing a hold of Rekir's buster barrel. "What have you done?"

"Leggo!" said Rekir, trying to wrestle the buster back into his hands. "You don't understand—"

Movement.

Almost without thought Rekir turned the buster so it pointed straight up and twisted to the side.

When the pink energy beam came, it sliced through the buster barrel. The extra resistance stole just enough energy that Des wasn't killed instantly. What was left of the buster came free into Rekir's grasp. He brought it to bear.

Another snap shot hit the enemy at point blank range. This time the answer wasn't a yelp, but a growl—a more threatening, dangerous sound from a more threatening, dangerous enemy. It lashed out with a kick that sent Rekir tumbling from the strength of it.

Old hat. Nothing he hadn't seen or felt before. Practiced reflex brought Rekir back to a crouch, his rifle-turned-pistol fully extended, ready to fire.

At a foe that was no longer there.

Rekir froze, maximizing his situational awareness. No sound. No sign of movement. Nothing visible.

Oh, this guy was good.

"You're very sharp, Rekir," a voice called out. Rust—it was echoing in this space, angled so that Rekir couldn't track it down. "Very sharp. I was wondering if you'd lived so long just by hiding behind Zero, or if you had teeth of your own."

Rekir did a lightning review of his situation. _Weapon damaged. Effective range halved, damage output down two-thirds. Three smoke bombs and one high-ex left. Teammate—_

He glanced over.

 _-alive but ineffective. Reinforcements unlikely._

 _My are-en-gee has turned bad, hasn't it?_

 _Had to happen sooner or later. Rust me._

As if reading his mind, the voice called out, "Zero's not here now, though. You're on your own."

Rekir got to his feet, carefully, never losing awareness of his surroundings. He shuffled over to Des, who was moaning and smoking slightly. Rekir took a cursory look at him. No—no way he'd be doing any fighting.

There—two quick blasts took out what was moving. Trash can. A test. Or a distraction. He aimed back along the axis the can had come from, but there was nothing.

"I'll have to be careful with you, if I'm going to take your squads apart two-by-two," the voice taunted.

This had been a trap all along. But Rekir knew that, on a level below thought. Too bad knowing wouldn't save him.

There was no time to waste wallowing in that fact. While the voice was still talking, Rekir hauled Des onto a flatbed cart. _Let it be motorized… yes. Mechaniloid, in fact, with a very basic interface. It'll do._

It took several long, painful seconds for Rekir to get it to understand his orders. He couldn't spare more than a quarter of his attention to the task, not and keep his situational awareness intact. Any lapse, if the enemy noticed it, would have lethal consequences.

There. Ready.

In quick succession, he threw his last grenade, hit the mechaniloid's control panel, and threw a smoke grenade.

The smoke grenade went off first, billowing out near the crate in front of the transport. The cart lurched into motion, aimed on a course clear away from the hangar. The grenade landed on top of the transport with a benign clinking sound, then let out a percussive bang that filled the hangar with the sound.

Rekir was on the move.

 _If he was on top of the transport, watching for any attempt to escape, the grenade scared him off. If he was lower, he'd back away from the smoke in case I came charging out of it. That gives enough clearance for Des to get away._

 _I'm the dangerous one, and he knows it. He can get Des later, but he has to kill me now._

Rekir circled broadly, coming around behind the shuttle. He kept Des within his line of sight for as long as possible, just in case their attacker made a move to finish off his victim, but it looked like Rekir's gamble was paying off.

"Admirably clever," came the voice. "It's too bad you're so underpowered. Imagine what you could do with even a little strength! As it is, you stand no chance against me."

What a blabbermouth. Rekir knew he was supposed to be intimidated, but he already knew the score. He was too terrified to be intimidated, and too experienced to let terror control him. As he came around the back of the shuttle, he grabbed another smoke grenade and tossed it in a high arc. He didn't care where it landed. It was just for distraction, to make the enemy think he had a plan.

He didn't, really. Just a destination. Now that Des was away, there was only one worry left.

He broke into a full sprint as he emerged from behind the shuttle. He picked his way through the various hangar equipment, tools, hoses—a miniature obstacle course. He was fully aware he could be attacked at any time, as soon as the enemy was comfortable predicting his course. He couldn't think about that.

He slowed down just a touch so he could loft his last smoke grenade. It landed nearby the crate and belched out its payload. Rekir vaulted the last obstacle and touched down in front of the crate. A crate full of radios.

He hauled one out, grabbed the receiver, mashed two buttons—

And jerked away just in time as the energy blade came ripping down, slicing through the receiver cord and Rekir's left arm. The smoke hadn't impeded the enemy's aim at all.

Rekir fell to the ground. He brought the buster-pistol around as he went down. One more shot blasted into the yellow frame of his attacker. It didn't slow or deter him. The energy blade came stabbing down, piercing Rekir's shoulder. His arm went limp.

"Nicely done," Rekir said through a wince, "Double, you traitor."

"Why thank you," said the Maverick. "Your caution is famous, but it didn't save you. You know, I was afraid you were on to me for a while, but you never pursued. You gave up, and now look at you! All you Hunters are too trusting by half."

Rekir gave a pained grin. "It's an occupational hazard of being the good guys."

"Hunters… the good guys!" Double laughed. "That's a good one. Thank you, Rekir, I needed that."

Rekir tried to move, but the energy blade didn't, and he only succeeded in burning up more of his shoulder. "I still don't see what this gets you or the Mavericks," he said. "So what if you knock off a few Hunters? We lose Hunters all the time."

"But not all Hunters are you," said Double.

Rekir frowned—the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. "What's special about me?"

"You're close to Zero," Double said. "He relies on you. While he has you, he's not alone, and the Master wants him alone. That's why you have to die."

Rekir chuckled. "Me? Close to Zero? You Mavericks don't know him at all."

"Oh, we do," said Double. "Better than you could possibly imagine."

"Obviously not. He won't miss me. He won't even remember my name."

It was Double's turn to frown. "Are you trying to make excuses? Trying to get me to spare your life?"

"Hardly. I'm just trying to keep you talking. Haven't you been hearing your own voice?"

"What do you—what?!" Double's head jerked to the side, trying to track the sound. "What did you do?" That time he heard it better. A muffled version of his voice was coming from the radios still in the crate.

Rekir nodded at the radio with the cut cord.

Outrage swept across Double's face. "How?"

"Funny thing about these radios," said Rekir. "It's buried in the documentation that nobody ever reads… They have an emergency setting. Hit star-four on a radio, and it starts transmitting whatever it picks up through the center transceiver. It blasts it out on every Hunter frequency except thirteen and sixteen, which Operators are supposed to use to vector in response.

"The Hunters know about you now, Double," Rekir said with a savage grin. "No one else is falling into your trap. Heh, it looks like you don't know all the tricks just ye—"

Double killed him. Then overkilled him from sheer aggravation. Then he stood and tore the radio apart for the same reasons.

One frail, underpowered, generic Hunter wasn't supposed to foul up his plans, no matter how experienced or wily he was! He'd ruined everything! There were more names on Double's assassination list that he didn't know how he'd get to now, and if he couldn't kill them all he'd better do something of equal worth or risk the wrath of—

Movement. He whirled, ignited his energy beam.

"I'm angry, too," came a lilting, almost sing-song voice.

Double froze in place. He knew this body, this frame, but he'd be rusted if this was the same person. "Iris?" he asked dubiously.

"Iris is dead," she replied. Her eyes went out of focus, as if she'd said something surprising and had to think about it. "Iris? I meant Colonel." She brightened and smiled. "Same thing, really."

"How did you get here?"

"You weren't paying attention when you loaded your transport," she said seriously. "I understand. You had a lot on your mind. It was filling me up with all the things on your mind. And I was full-overfull already, so you can imagine where that left poor me!"

It was a gift. Another name on his list, another link to Zero offering itself up to be severed. And yet… it didn't seem right, somehow, to touch this thing that had been Iris.

"I should kill you," he said.

"If you'd like," she said amiably. "But we would rather you take us to space."

"Huh?"

"Colonel wanted to go to space more than anything," she said, raising her arms like she was trying to get there herself. "And I wanted to go to a place where only reploids exist. Hey, that's a Maverick thing, isn't it? And you're a Maverick. So you should want to go to space, too. That's logic, that is," she said seriously.

She was broken, Double knew. Shattered. Beyond repair. He didn't need to kill her. She was already…

Wait. "Does that mean you want to be a Maverick?" he asked.

"Maverick, bo-Baverick, fo-Faverick… Maverick again? That's no good. Oh—were you asking? I think we already are Maverick."

Unsteady ground. "Do you want to kill Hunters?" he tried instead.

"That's what I'm saying," she said patiently. "We already are Maverick."

"Who's we?"

She laughed. What should have been a merry noise was a chorus of dissonance. "That's a hole with no bottom."

Okay. So she was broken and couldn't make sense. But there might be an opportunity here, all the same. A chance…

A chance to fulfill a different mission, and maybe survive in the bargain.

"I'll take you to space," he said.

"Wonderful! I'd hug you but then you'd kill us and then we'd never get to space and that would be more horrible than anything!"

Reploids didn't need to breathe. That meant, Double noted with concern, that there was no physical limit to how much Iris could speak.

"We need to move that transport first," he said, trying to refocus. "Can you do it?"

"What, that transport?" She looked at Double's ride with a frown. "No, it doesn't want to move. Can't you tell? And I've never been good at making people do things."

If Double listened to much more of this then _he'd_ go mad. "Get on the shuttle while I move the transport."

"Oh, yes," she agreed, "the shuttle definitely wants to move. It's _aching_ to move. It's _bursting_ to move. It's…"

Double ran away from her and boarded the transport. He didn't have to move it far—just out of the way of the shuttle.

 _"It wants to go to space as badly as we do which is quite a lot and that's good because if it didn't I don't know how we'd get to space and…"_

Double tore the transport's radio out of its console. He couldn't deal with it. Riding in an enclosed shuttle with this creature? _This plan had better be worth it,_ he thought.

* * *

 _Next time: Love_


	15. Love

"Iris!" Zero called over his radio as his boosters flashed. "Where are you, Iris?"

 _"_ _I tollllld youuuu,"_ she said. _"You'll see me if you keep going around the spaceport."_

"Where?" Zero pleaded, though he kept moving. He'd heard combat sounds over the radio, heard Rekir's voice, but none of that was as important as Iris. "Where are you?"

 _"_ _You'll know when you see me."_

"Don't do this to me, Iris. I thought about you when I saw Colonel, just like I promised. I tried to… h-he wouldn't…"

 _"_ _Don't talk to us about that. We know. We know all about it. Just keep running."_

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Iris!"

 _"_ _We know. We release you from your promises."_

"What does that mean?" Zero said as panic filled him. "Which promises?"

 _"_ _You'll know. We promise."_

"Iris, please! Where are you? I need to see you!"

 _"_ _You will. You will."_

He bore down and ran faster.

* * *

"Too late," X whispered.

Ahead, out the cockpit window, he could see a second shuttle lifting off. No air-breathing craft could catch it, not where it was headed.

"Seventeenth," he said over the radio, "are there any other shuttles down there?"

 _"_ _Negative, that was the last one. Repliforce scrapped the rest."_

The shuttle began to curve—or it looked like it was curving, anyway, as it escaped the planet's spin and the planet went on without it. The planet wouldn't miss it. X would.

No time to waste, then. "Base, X. My shuttle's been hijacked and it left without me. I need alternate transportation to Final Weapon."

 _"_ _X, Base, roger… that might be tricky."_

X gave a tight smile. "I trust Commander Grant understands the urgency of the situation."

 _"_ _I'll make sure he does."_

 _Good for you, Alia,_ he thought. "Base, X, roger."

"I'll go into a holding pattern," said the pilot.

"No, land anyway," X said. "We need to pick up Zero."

"Oh, right. Sorry, sir."

"Don't worry, it wasn't part of the plan. We were supposed to…"

 _"_ _X, help me."_

X's attention was ripped away. "What's wrong, Zero?" he replied silently.

 _"_ _I can't find Iris."_

Dread washed over X.

 _"_ _She told me she was at the spaceport, but I can't find her,"_ Zero went on. His radio-voice was more anguished than X had ever heard it. Even during the First War, when Zero was adrift trying to figure out which side to fight for, he hadn't sounded like he was in pain.

There was no doubt in X's mind that Zero was hurting, now.

 _"_ _Help me, X,"_ Zero begged.

"I will," X promised. But how could Iris have been at the spaceport? Time to switch frequencies. "Alia, X," X transmitted privately. "Where's Iris?"

 _"_ _She went into a fit when Repliforce took off. I had her taken to the repair shop."_

"Did she get there?" X asked meaningfully.

 _"…_ _checking."_

X suspected he already knew the answer. If his suspicion was correct, then he could guess the cause. "Zero, how's Colonel?"

 _"…_ _I…"_

Everything came together for X. He had two questions that needed answering, but he knew what those answers would be. He knew who was on that shuttle. He knew, and could not stop it.

 _"_ _X, Alia. Iris never made it to the repair shop. I've started a search for her in the base."_

"Alia, X, roger." He knew they wouldn't find her, but they might find something else, and…

 _"…_ _I killed Colonel, X. I didn't want to. He made me do it. I didn't want to, but he…"_

X closed his eyes. His insides were lurching. He knew it wasn't just because of the flyer's landing. How bizarre. X valued information so highly—it was the fuel for his analysis subroutines, and those gave him power—but to know, and yet be powerless…

"Zero," X said slowly, "Iris is gone."

 _"_ _What do you mean, gone?"_ Zero said sharply.

"She had Colonel's suffering circuit installed, remember?" X said. "Not just any suffering circuit, either—an overpowered one that was supposed to balance Colonel's martial pride. But when it was too strong, they installed it in Iris instead so she would dampen the signal, and linked their brains together.

"Zero, what do you suppose would happen to Iris if she lost her link with Colonel?"

Silence. Utter silence. Whatever Zero was doing, he wasn't transmitting. The flyer touched down at the spaceport, but still Zero didn't transmit.

No, X was wrong—he was.

 _"_ _Iris!"_

 _"_ _Iris!"_

 _"_ _Iris!"_

 _"_ _Iris!"_

Zero was swapping through every frequency he could hit. It was almost like a jamming signal, except that its intent was the opposite, to elicit a response rather than inhibit one.

X closed his eyes and let his imagination take over. He tried to imagine himself as Iris—as a person with empathy so strong it swamped her sense of self. She had managed to survive because she was always sharing those sensations. Always transmitting—sharing them with another. Having to do that, by itself, would help take off some of the edge. There was always someone to serve as an emotion-sink—someone who understood—someone who felt like Iris felt, if only a little. She didn't have to carry it all herself because she was always unloading some of it on Colonel.

Now take away Colonel.

Too loud. Too harsh. Her ability to process emotions wouldn't be up to the task. Without any sort of outlet or relief, they would flood over her and break her.

Unless she found a way, _forced_ a way…

Reploid brains could re-wire themselves on the fly. X knew that without doubt, because that property was what made Maverickism possible.

Reploids were built so that their decisions had to pass muster with the Three Laws of Robotics. Dedicated circuitry caused all signal paths to go through the gates that enforced the Laws. This should have disallowed Maverickism. It didn't. Mavericks created alternate paths, false signals, and other tricks that allowed them to bypass their Three Laws gates.

That example meant it was possible Iris had found a way to function… but with that much sensation to sink, under that much duress… There was a big difference between a brain _functioning_ and a brain _working_.

 _"_ _X, Base. The medic that was taking Iris to medical has been found. Dead. Saber attack at close range."_

X nodded gravely. He hated being right, sometimes. "Thank you, Alia."

 _"_ _I'm locking down the base while we find the Maverick."_

"Don't bother. The Maverick has already left. She's left the planet, in fact."

 _"_ _She… you mean Iris went Maverick?"_

 _"_ _You take that back!"_

Zero's voice interjected over the comms channel. Of course Zero would be cycling through them, listening for any sign or signal.

"I can't, Zero. The pieces fit. Iris was hit by backlash when you killed Colonel…"

 _"_ _So this is all_ my _fault?!"_

"…so she was taken down to the repair shop. On the way, her brain reconfigured enough to regain activity, but not any activity like it had before. She killed the medic, and stowed away with Double when he came here with supplies. Now Double is on that shuttle, heading up to space, and Iris… Iris is with him."

 _"_ _I'm checking the hangar now. I'll find her, I know I will. She's not Maverick!"_

All of Zero's words and actions were so unusual, so different, that X wondered if _Zero_ hadn't been subject to mental trauma. But, in a way, he had.

X knew when his words could never hit their target. Zero wouldn't listen. He had to see. In the meantime, X would try to figure out what words to say to Zero when he couldn't avoid the truth.

He didn't like his chances.

* * *

"Let me do all the talking," said Double.

Iris laughed.

"What?" he said, bristling.

"You're putting on an act to hide how scared you are, but you think it's okay because I'm the crazy one!" she giggled. "It's funny!

"But it's alright," she went on, suddenly serious. "We understand. You see…" she leaned in closely as if to share a secret. "I _am_ the crazy one."

She leaned back and a gout of laughter erupted. "But that just makes me honest. Everyone's crazy! I know better than anyone. No one can hide their crazy from me. I see it in every single person. Crazy, crazy, crazy. They tell themselves they're not, which makes them crazier. I'm not the crazy _one_ , I'm just the crazi _est_!"

"That's true," said Double sincerely. "And that's why I should do the talking."

"Repliforce doesn't know you. They do know me. If we're going to get onboard without being blasted to atoms, it'll be because of me."

This voice was deeper, utterly serious, and completely unlike what had come before. Double glanced around to make sure no one else was about. No, just Iris, who was now pouting.

"Ohhhh," she said with a whine, "but what if you're too proud and scared to admit it? What if you try to talk your way through on your own? I don't wanna be blasted to atoms!"

"Here," Double said, practically flinging the handset at her. "All yours."

"Thank you, Mr. Double," she said, saccharine-sweet.

"What are you going to say?" he asked.

The aspect she cycled to now made Double feel like something goopy and unclean was underneath his armor. Her eyes went half-lidded; her tongue was slightly visible; she leaned back and gestured and spoke in ways utterly foreign to him. "I have my… charms. Trust me."

Double's hand tightened. His power system made energy available to his weapons.

"Oh!" she said, smacking a fist into her other hand. "That's _right_! This is a place where only reploids exist! No need for human affectations in a place like this. Hooray! I can forget all that mapping. That makes my life so much simpler!"

Double's eyes touched on the handset.

"Ah-ah-ah," she chided. "You gave it to me. No second-guessing, now."

"I should throw you out the airlock," Double said.

She hummed merrily, as if she knew (and she probably did know) that he wouldn't do that. After a few seconds more she said, "I bet we're in range now, don't you think? Let's try."

Her expression and attitude went neutral, blank. "Repliforce, this is approaching shuttle. Repliforce, this is approaching shuttle. We're coming to fulfill a promise."

When she stopped transmitting, she turned to Double with a giddy grin. "No newbuilt can keep himself from asking 'What promise?' We've got them."

The radio crackled. _"Approaching shuttle… what promise?"_

Iris erupted in such over-the-top laughter that Double almost felt the urge to join in, if not for the fact that he was feeling more threatened by her with every moment they spent together. The voice she used to reply, though, was sorrowful. "Colonel made the Hunters promise to take care of his sister. They failed, and that made him very sad. You can still keep the promise, though. You can honor Colonel's memory by saving his sister."

The lag before the next response made Double extremely nervous. He was even more nervous when a different voice came over the radio. _"Approaching shuttle, this is General."_

"General! Good to hear from you!" said Iris.

 _"…Iris? Is that you?"_

"Yes, I'm here," she said. "We were able to escape from the Hunters. Colonel was so sad he couldn't come, but he's better now."

 _"He'd be happy to know you're safe."_

"Yes, he is," she agreed. "You will take us in, won't you?"

 _"Of course. We all owe Colonel a great debt. This is the least we can do."_

"Wonderful! Oh, I'm bringing another reploid with me. He's a refugee from the Hunters, too! That's okay, isn't it?"

 _"For the sister of Colonel, it is."_

"Thank you so very much!" she said. "We're a few minutes out. Let's talk about how we'll make our approach." She put the handset down long enough to mouth 'I told you so' at Double, then picked it up again.

It was the ambiguity, Double decided, that was so disturbing. If you knew what someone was going to do, you could judge if their plan was good or bad, and make your own plans accordingly. That was the essence of his life as a spy, and it was a thrill beyond words. But if you didn't know what the other person was going to do, you couldn't tell if their move was good or bad, dangerous or benign, and you couldn't make good plans of your own. That adrift feeling, like he was slipping and couldn't get good traction… it was discomfiting.

Iris had been very predictable before. Now…

"You should be afraid."

Double jerked his head in surprise. Iris was giving him a look. "So many bad things could happen. What if something goes wrong with the transfer? What if there's an accident? Or… what if there's an 'accident'?"

Her expression was getting darker and harsher and more unsettling with every word. "What if I tell Repliforce to space you once we get there? What if I tell them you're a Hunter and let them kill you? What if you can't fulfill your mission? What if you _fail your master?_ "

"Don't—" Double blurted, before trying to shakily compose himself. "You don't know me," he said.

She laughed at him.

"I hid my Maverickism from you, didn't I?" he said indignantly.

"I'm just teasing. You're funny. I like that!" She put her hands up, parallel to the floor, fingers splayed wide. "I can see your strings now," she said, moving her hands about.

"What… like puppet strings? Feh," Double huffed. "We came up to space to find our freedom, didn't we?"

"Yes," said Iris, suddenly serious, "but not all of us did."

Then she smiled again and pointed to the back of the shuttle. "We'd better put spacesuits on, unless you can breathe in space!"

Double knew she knew—she had to know—that reploids didn't breathe, in space or otherwise. Still, she was right that robots not optimized for space were in danger without protection. It didn't pay to contest her desires in any event. There was no fighting the insane.

 _This is no way to live,_ Double thought. _This had better be worth it._

* * *

"Good evening. I'm Ariel Soprano, reporting live with our continuing coverage of the Fourth Maverick War.

"Fighting in Abel City continues, but the character of the fighting has changed. Eyewitnesses report that Maverick forces are fleeing in all directions. With Repliforce's General having abandoned the planet, the Mavericks left behind are increasingly wild and disorganized. In many cases, this makes them more dangerous than ever. Reploid psychologist Robert Hobbes had this to say."

 _"Mavericks can only hold on to ideals for so long. Repliforce was steeped in honor and their General had utopian words to say, but that couldn't survive real conditions. Between the lack of political legitimacy and the pressure of the Hunters, Mavericks' principles soon erode, and before long they can only focus on immediate survival. The hierarchy of needs asserts itself. It's inevitable that Mavericks become nasty and brutish, which is why it's so important to have Hunters to ensure their lives are short."_

"All residents of Abel City are encouraged to stay in their shelters until Maverick suppression operations are complete, and to continue to report on Maverick movements as the war continues.

"Fighting isn't limited to Abel City, though. Across the globe there have been small-scale Maverick incidents in many cities, while spontaneous protests—both for and against Repliforce—have broken out in many more.

"And the action has spread to space as well. Amateur astronomers are reporting as many as three unscheduled launches, with two originating from Abel City's own Babel Spaceport. The Office of Reploid Relations has confirmed that Repliforce has used shuttles from that Spaceport to move their operations to space. Their statement, made just moments ago:"

 _"…the Mavericks calling themselves Repliforce have taken over a government space installation called Point FW. I am not at liberty to disclose the nature of this installation. However, rest assured that ORR takes this very seriously. We have dispatched our best Maverick Hunters to Point FW in order to resolve this crisis as quickly as possible. We have every confidence that Zero and Mega Man X can bring this war to a successful conclusion, while Brevet Captain Signas directs the mopping-up."_

"Speculation abounds that the third unscheduled launch of the day was sent to deliver X and Zero to Point FW. It must be said, however, that sending the world-famous, war-winning master Hunters to space necessarily means they're not on Earth—and few people can feel comfortable with those two being off of Earth while a Maverick War rages.

"I believe I speak for all peace-loving people when I say this: Godspeed, Mega Man X, and come back to us as quickly as you can. We will keep you in our prayers until you return."

* * *

The shuttle was as quiet and unmoving as a grave.

It was all-but-empty. Weight demanded fuel, fueling demanded time, and Alia had calculated they only had time to send two Hunters to space before Final Weapon could defend itself. It was a small shuttle, anyway, but with only X and Zero in it and neither in a mood to talk, it might as well have been frozen solid. The spacesuits the Hunters wore, anticipating a quick deployment when they reached their target, only added to both the silence and the stillness.

Silent, but not tranquil. Still, but not at peace.

"She's not a Maverick, you know."

X looked at Zero. The red Hunter's eyes were shut. He'd spoken without opening them. He had broken the silence, but not the stillness.

X wanted to argue against Zero's claim. He wanted to explain how no other conclusion was possible, how running away with Mavericks was itself Maverickism, that there was a corpse in Hunter Base that brooked no other explanation…

He couldn't speak. Not when Zero looked like that. Not when Zero so desperately wanted, needed, the opposite to be true. What good was the truth when the truth was so cruel?

"Then what is she?" was the most he could manage.

Zero turned his head, still without opening his eyes. "I'll just have to ask her."

"Be careful when you do," X said. "We don't know what's going on. Caution is…"

"She won't hurt me."

He said it with the certainty of gravity. _Too bad,_ thought X, _that we're in space._ "How do you know?"

"She doesn't want me to go away," Zero said. "She doesn't want me to die, and she doesn't want me to leave her. She said she loves me, and that's what love means."

Dissonance. "That's… not really…"

"What do you know?!"

For the first time Zero's eyes opened. They were flashing hot with anger. X saw beneath in a way others couldn't, and saw the pain lurking below.

Even understanding Zero's pain, knowing it, X couldn't stand before that anger. Not fully. Not when he'd contributed to it. Shame flushed through him. He looked forward, out into the endless sea of stars, into the face of infinity.

Still, he had to try... "I have a secret to tell you, Zero," he said. "Something I've never told anyone. Do you want to hear it?"

Zero grunted. He'd closed his eyes again.

"I'm loved."

"Figures. With the way people talk about you…"

"That's not what I mean."

In theory, this was a dense part of the belt of satellites orbiting Earth. Monitoring stations focused intensely here, trying to ensure all of the hundreds and thousands of satellites stayed safe when they were so close together. But such things are relative. 'Close encounters' might be tens of kilometers apart. Even if this was a busy spacelane, all that X could see out the window was deep space.

"It was the second thing I knew when I woke up," X said. "'I am X. I am loved.' Someone… cared enough about me, to insert that message into my consciousness. To tell me… to let me know, even when they knew they'd be long gone before I ever saw it. Love wasn't in the having for them. How could it be? It was in the giving.

"When I felt that message, when I felt that truth pop up in my mind, I knew I could never repay it. It was a gift from a giver I'd never meet. I couldn't love that person back. So I had to pay it forward, instead." He reached his hands out, into the void. "I had to love others."

"Orders, huh?" said Zero.

"Were you given orders when you woke up?" X asked. Zero winced ever-so-slightly. It made X feel guilty again. "Never mind. You don't remember that time. It was unfair to ask you to try."

He'd thought this would help, but if anything Zero's frown deepened. It was as if X had hit too close to home. This was a part of Zero that he'd kept to himself, and X, respecting that, had never pried. It was suddenly, unexpectedly, relevant. X felt so uninformed. He knew so many things, and none of them helped him here and now.

"But no," he said, belatedly returning to the topic. "Not orders. That's the whole point. This is why I keep this story secret. It's too easy for people to think that me loving people is… some kind of predilection. Something that doesn't apply to them, just to me. If I argue, no, I mean you too, the last thing I need is for someone to have an excuse. I can't have people saying, 'You just love because of how you were built'. It's not true. I believe, with every fiber of my being, that I love because it's the right thing to do.

"Besides, my maker loved me enough not to give me orders. That's why this was a message, and not a program, or a subroutine, or orders, or anything like that. Just that message—I am loved. My maker did the hardest thing a person can do. He loved me enough to set me free."

 _Which is the difference between me and Repliforce,_ he added to himself. _I know I'm free. They don't understand what that means. That gives me a power they'll never know._

 _Zero wasn't loved, was he?_

It was an urgent question, but there was no way to answer it for sure. He felt, rather than saw, Zero's eyes upon him. It made him self-conscious. He didn't want to ruin the moment, though—didn't want Zero to feel threatened and withdraw. If Zero wasn't loved by his builder, X would do his best to fill in the gap. He kept his eyes facing out. "Love is in giving," he said. "Not having. Love is in helping others. It's the agony of choosing between what others want and what they need, and the pain of never getting it right. It's about giving of yourself, from yourself… about another person's happiness being more important than your own…"

He stumbled. His head hurt. Love was a hard concept, and this had been a very, very long day. Space was so very big. X's words disappeared into it.

"Having another person close by… isn't love by itself," he said. "It's a part of love, maybe. But not the important part."

"Maybe for you," Zero said.

X's supply of words evaporated.

"We're different, you and I," Zero said. "I always knew that. I pretended we weren't that different. I tried to care about the things you cared about. I made you important to me—important enough to die for. But we were never the same."

"We don't have to be the same," X said. "Even identical factory models differentiate. The moment they pass Moulson's threshold…"

Zero closed his eyes again. X shut up.

The silence was absolute. The stillness was deathly.

"'Happiness,' huh? That's just a word to me. As if I could tell the difference…"

 _Being with Colonel made you happy,_ X wanted to say, but he didn't dare. _And... I thought I could help you be happy..._

"Maybe you're right," Zero admitted. "Maybe what I feel for Iris isn't love, like how you see it. But it's close enough for me. It's real. It matters, even if I don't know the right name for it. And what Iris feels for me… it's real, and it matters, too. Even if it's not love. Even if it's something else. Whatever it is, I can't… stand…"

"…losing it."

Zero's eyes opened. He didn't look to X, though. He looked out, into the stars. "She does that, too. She finishes my sentences when I can't."

"I'm sorry."

Zero's face tensed. "What for? ...Never mind. Don't answer."

X couldn't take it if the silence came again. "I love you," he said. "By both our definitions."

Zero's hands tightened. "Stop trying to compete with Iris."

"Compete? I…"

X's mouth was open, but there were no words.

"…I…"

He turned away, face burning with shame.

"It's not a competition," he said at last.

Zero's eyes closed. "So you say."

"There's no good reason why it should be."

"What's wrong? Afraid I won't be close by you anymore?"

That stung. It also locked X in to one response. "No."

"Then prove it," Zero said intensely, locking his eyes on X. "When I go to see Iris, let me go. Alone."

"In enemy territory?" X asked, appalled. He looked to Zero to make sure the warbot was serious. "Surrounded by Mavericks?"

Zero nodded.

"You know that if I suggested this, you'd sooner stab me in the leg so I couldn't go at all."

"I'm being serious, X."

"So am I. Just…" His shoulders sagged. He sighed helplessly. "Just be careful, will you?"

Zero leaned back into his seat. "You know me."

X shook his head. "All too well."

The silence hadn't fully congealed when the radio crackled. _"Sabot, this is Base. Come in."_

X picked up the handset. "Base, Sabot, roger."

 _"_ _Sabot, Base. It pains me to say this, but I think Repliforce knows you're coming."_

"Oh?"

Alia's voice was strained. _"The government announced that Zero and Mega Man X are going to 'Point FW' to resolve the Fourth Maverick War. If Repliforce isn't ready for you when you arrive, they deserve what happens next."_

"Good," said Zero. "We won't have to look for them, then."

"Thanks for telling us," said X.

 _"_ _It makes your op harder, though. It… frustrates me that Grant would lecture you about OpSec, then pull a stunt like this."_

"I okay with it, actually," said X. "It's damage control. They want to keep people from demanding anything drastic. Weapons that reach into space aren't technically legal. There haven't been any since the Antarctic Treaty. But fearful people could probably improvise something… something that might make the world more dangerous again."

 _"_ _Be that as it may, it still means Repliforce will make your_ arrival _dangerous. We came up with some ideas here on the ground, and we want to run them by you."_

X glanced over. Zero was looking interested in the conversation, with the degree and type of interest he reserved for combat. X could count on that, at least.

"Talk to us," X said.

 _"_ _The schematics to Final Weapon should have uploaded by now. You should be able to access them."_

"We have them," X said, pulling them up into hologram.

 _"_ _Good. As you can see, Final Weapon is built around the mass driver itself. The center core is the weapon. It doesn't rotate. Below it is the docking station and cargo bay—that doesn't rotate, either. You won't be able to dock your shuttle there, because there's one in the way already._

 _"_ _The rest of the station—this large, hollow cylinder built around the mass driver—does rotate. That's how it simulates gravity. It's enclosed and has an atmosphere. That's where Repliforce will be. Your target area is this ring at the front of the cylinder. The ring is open to vacuum. It's the landing zone for cargo—they use a system of magnets to shunt cargo from the bay out to the ring, and then workers bring the cargo in from the ring through these two airlocks._

 _"_ _The plan—and tell me if this is too crazy, even for you—is for you to bail out of the shuttle as it passes Final Weapon. It'll be a fair distance away, but that's the only way to restore surprise. It's a lot harder to spot two spacesuits than a whole shuttle. You'll spacewalk to the ring, use the magnetic boots in your spacesuits to land, and then use the access codes we'll give you to go through one of the airlocks."_

"What if Repliforce has changed the access codes?"

 _"_ _They can't change them. The codes are hardwired. The designers didn't think this scenario would ever come up, so they didn't design around it."_

"What if Repliforce is waiting for us inside the airlocks?"

 _"_ _They probably will be."_

"Hm… probably not _right_ inside the airlocks. There's too much risk of stray weapons fire breaching the hull. Repliforce came this far trying to save themselves; they won't risk blowing themselves right back out into space."

 _"_ _If you say so. Or they'll seal the next doors in and blow the airlock on purpose. You'll need to be prepared for that, too."_

X sighed. "Just so you know, Alia, this plan _is_ completely crazy. But this is wartime, so crazy is just another day at the office. Don't you think so, Zero?"

Zero nodded once. "It's doable," he said. "For us. Only us." Then his eyes slipped out of focus, and his voice lost its certainty. "That shuttle, the one blocking our way… that's Double's shuttle, isn't it?"

 _"_ _That's right."_

"So Iris is there."

Alia hesitated. _"I can't say for sure. Not enough data."_

X looked at Zero for long seconds as the silence stretched out, and made his decision. "Zero and I will go to separate airlocks," he said.

 _"_ _You're going face-first into Repliforce's last stand and you're splitting up?"_ Disbelief. Justified disbelief, X had to admit.

But he'd made his choice. "That's right. The greatest danger to us is stray or heavy weapons fire that breaches Final Weapon's skin. If we're separate, there will be less destruction in any single place." He traced a route inside Final Weapon with his finger. "We'll rendezvous here—em-three. Crew's galley. It's the first big space we can get to, and it's between both airlocks. It's well away from the hull, too."

Alia sighed audibly. _"As your Operator, I'm obliged to inform you that you're making a crazy op even crazier. That said, it's your op, and I can't stop you. Your call."_

"Thanks for your understanding, Alia."

 _"_ _If that all sounds good to you, I'll send you up a program of instructions for the shuttle."_

"Do that. Standing by." X turned the radio back to handset-only. "That should give you your time alone with Iris," he said.

Zero's mouth opened; he struggled to speak. X could see the warbot's face twisting with effort. In the end, though, Zero sealed his helmet, rotating the faceplate into place.

X could still contact him by radio, he knew, but Zero wouldn't appreciate that.

The red Hunter never had been any good at saying thank you, X remembered. He hoped that was what Zero was trying to say.

If it wasn't…

X sealed his own helmet.

* * *

 _Next time: Void_


	16. Void

"Sir! They're coming!"

General already knew the answer, but he had to ask the question. "Who's coming?"

"X and Zero! They'll be here soon!"

"Will Final Weapon be ready to fire by then?"

The soldier shook his head. "Not quite. It needs a little more time to finish arming. Their shuttle will get here before it's done."

General sighed. "We left Earth completely, but they can't just let us go. They can't abide us escaping. Even when we just want peace!"

"They're the Hunters. Genocide is their profession," Iris said, not looking at anyone. She smiled. "We'll go."

Double's head whipped towards her. General frowned at her. She seemed immune to both reactions. "What do you mean?" General asked.

"Yeah, what _do_ you mean?" said Double, visibly nervous.

She sighed contentedly. "The fear is so thick here…" After a happy hum, she looked at General. "Double and I will go see X and Zero first. I want to see Zero again, and he can't refuse me. For his part, Double has history with X. We'll go."

"And do what?"

"Talk, of course. And we'll see where it goes from there."

"Let me get this straight," General said dubiously. "You want to be alone against Zero, and you're willing to throw Double in front of X, when they're on the warpath."

She laughed. "It's not like there's anywhere to go. This will be our way of saying 'thank you' for taking us in. And you'll get to protect what's left of Repliforce, risk-free. It's no loss to you whatever happens."

"I've failed so many already," General replied. "I don't want to fail Colonel again by letting you die."

"Oooother peeeeople maaaatteeeer," Iris sang. She smiled. "We're dead, didn't you know? Well, Colonel is dead, anyway. You can't fail him. He died happily. So don't worry."

"I'm not dead," said Double resentfully.

"Yes you are," she replied, turning to give him a piercing look. "You know it, too. You died the moment Rekir exposed you. You've been swimming in denial ever since, but that won't last much longer."

Double's eyes darted back and forth, as if he was doing math in his head. General noticed. "Shall I dispose of him, my lady?" he growled.

"No," she said. "Without him, we wouldn't have gotten to space. We'll give him a chance to earn his place here. We'll have him face X, just like I said."

Double seemed to finish his calculations with disappointment. He visibly deflated. "Fine," he said resignedly. "I'll do it. But why, Iris? Why are you doing this to me?"

The smile that came across her face was like a crack in a pane of glass: all jagged, irregular edges spreading every which way. "Having opinions is fun," she said with a jangling purr. "I wish I'd had more while I was alive."

She started walking. "Come on, Double. Let's go meet our friends."

* * *

 _"_ _Tee-minus thirty. Remember, when you release from the shuttle, your suit will do a short controlled burn. You'll have to course correct on your own."_

X nodded, though Alia was literally a world away. "Thanks for everything."

 _"_ _You can thank me when you get back. Tee-minus ten."_

She knew her business, X reflected. Both her mathematics, which he'd double-checked from sheer nerves, and her counsel. He could use a little infusion of faith at a time like this…

He glanced to his left. Zero was with him. It made him feel better.

X's internal chronometer unerringly marked the time. His suit's mag-boots disengaged and, at nearly the same moment, its thrusters jolted him.

He sailed out into infinity.

It was a lot like sensory deprivation. The thrust in his suit turned off, taking away feeling. There was no sound whatsoever. He could see, but out here there was nothing, just the vastness of things too far away to comprehend. He couldn't see his target, not yet.

He had a sudden impression, an intrusion of past on present. Experiments. The studies done on him when reploids were a dream, studies of his unprecedented brain, studies that more than once had separated that brain from his senses in order to study it in isolation and incidentally _scared him stupid_ until he'd found the courage to say something about it…

He fought down the memory. He needed all his focus. He resisted the urge to look back and try to find the shuttle. Even if he found it, what good would it do?

There. That dot wasn't moving, and it was growing. Final Weapon. His exquisite targeting routines locked on. Good as they were, they needed data. He had to wait.

He strained and strained. He was hoping it was getting bigger. He couldn't tell. It didn't look like it was moving, but that could be for two reasons—either he was heading straight at it, or it was still too far away…

Where was Zero?

He broke his eyelock on the dot to look for Zero. His circuits frazzled when Zero wasn't there. Where? Where—there? There!

Moving away!

Math raced through X. Zero had changed course—his targeting subroutines and optics were, in all likelihood, better than X's. If he'd gotten good data on Final Weapon before X had, made a correction—

Leap of faith. X never questioned. He matched Zero's course. At this range, he could judge his motion against Zero's much more accurately than he could against Final Weapon.

A glance back at the space station. It stubbornly wasn't growing, but it also wasn't moving. Had they nailed the course correctly? How big was this thing?

He looked to Zero again. Made a minor adjustment to close the distance to Zero. Drift… drift… another small one, even out. There. Range to Zero restored, having matched his course correction.

Oh! He had a radio, didn't he? In as bizarre circumstances as these, normal things got lost in the shuffle. He focused down his embarrassment. "You altered your course," he said to Zero.

He waited for an answer.

He waited for a long time.

 _"_ _You couldn't tell we needed it?"_ Zero said at last.

"Not yet," X said. "I was still evaluating."

 _"_ _It was a small change,"_ Zero said after an interminable wait.

"Yes." X smiled. "You will tell me if you make another one, won't you?"

 _"_ _Yes."_

"That's how it's supposed to be," X said firmly. "When one of us goes off-course, we help each other stay on track."

 _"_ _You know I hate metaphor."_

That shut X up.

At last he could see Final Weapon show some sign of getting closer. It was growing in his sight. With Zero steady to his side, and nothing else around but stars, the growth of Final Weapon was the only true sign that he was moving at all.

There was a metaphor there, too, but Zero had it right, maybe. There was no time for that here.

Closer… closer…

X was getting good data now. One more slight adjustment. "One degree left," he radioed Zero.

 _"_ _Half a degree."_

X frowned, recalculated. "One degree is correct."

Zero moved. _"It is now because we wasted time talking about it."_

X mirrored the adjustment. "So long as we get it right."

Zero didn't reply.

Bigger, bigger—how far away had they been when they bailed on the shuttle? How long had this taken? Surely they could have gotten closer… but no, the shuttle would have been seen, and that would have given Repliforce a chance to rig some sort of defense, or send some soldiers out to contest their arrival. X and Zero would have been helpless to fight back when their own weapons fire would have skewed their course and sent them spiraling into deep space…

It occurred to X that he'd faced any number of violent, grisly deaths. Just in this war he'd been faced with attempted incineration, explosion, mutilation, skewering, dismemberment, and more besides. All very immediate and traumatic. Dying a slow death drifting out into infinity… that was a new one.

More peaceful, maybe, but more disturbing. More… helpless.

He really didn't know why he thought about things like that at times like these.

At least he wouldn't be alone. If he missed, Zero would too. Heat death wouldn't be so bad if he had company. It was a selfish thought, one that embarrassed him- what, and deprive the world of its two best Hunters, just so he wouldn't be lonely as he wasted away? And doom his dearest friend for his own sake? No. He would rather die alone, given the choice.

He wondered what Zero's choice would be.

And stopped wondering. Zero was built unloved. Now he was so aching for companionship he was holding out hope that an insane Maverick would love him back. For all the trouble that Zero had in making connections, he held on to the ones he made with fanatical desperation.

If he were cut loose from them...

There was a metaphor here, too. The worst one yet.

X shook his head. His attention had wandered from survival- a potentially fatal mistake, here in space. Time to refocus. Final Weapon had gotten noticeably bigger. He checked his math. "Retro-burn in ten seconds," he said.

 _"_ _Roger,"_ Zero agreed.

X queued up the command for his thrusters to fire against his current course. Final Weapon was a few kilometers away, still—practically on top of them, in orbital terms. But without a retro burn to kill their momentum, they'd shoot right past the thing without being able to maneuver onto it.

Tick, tick, thrust. The first burst of feeling since beginning the spacewalk jolted X. Reminded him that sensations were possible.

He double-checked his fuel. The suits were good and maneuverable, and they hadn't had to use much fuel thus far—the course had been good enough that only the two adjustments had brought them through. Good thing: no one knew how much fuel it would take to do their final maneuvers, and that kind of finesse work was very expensive, especially aiming at a moving target…

And with a laugh X saw the solution. "Aim for the cargo bay," he said.

 _"_ _Why?"_

"It's a bigger target. Much more room for error. We can go from there to the outer ring with lower speed and finer control."

 _"_ _Good plan."_

X felt a glimmer of pride at that. It soured quickly. He wasn't supposed to have to prove his value to Zero…

He shook his head. Focus. Focus or it's heat death.

He targeted the cargo bay—a grandiose name for an open platform behind the shuttle dock. "Retro burn is complete. One more adjustment. Two degrees left. One degree up."

 _"_ _One point five left, one up."_

Close enough. "Okay. Three seconds."

He and Zero maneuvered as one. Synchronized swimmers would have blushed with envy. They economized every drop of fuel.

"Ell-zee looks clear," he said.

 _"_ _Confirmed."_

"Good. Last thing we needed was a mid-orbit firefight."

Relative velocity to Final Weapon was still fifty meters a second—practically backwards for a satellite, racecar speeds on Earth. They'd have barely a second over the cargo bay, and if they missed, they'd have to try and get the far side of the cylinder… miss that and it would be time for philosophy.

Wow, Zero's math had been good. "We're coming right at it. Retro burst, no offset."

 _"_ _Roger."_

Once more they twisted (more precious fuel), aimed their feet at the cargo bay, fired off the shortest possible burst of thrusters which cut their incoming velocity, engaged mag boots-

K-chunk. K-chunk.

X shuddered in his suit as he touched down. It wasn't that he thought they'd miss, honestly, it was just that the _consequences_ of missing…

But now his feet were on something solid. Much better. Almost there. He looked 'up' at the cylinder of final weapon; he could see the ring spinning, but there was no relative motion. An easy target. He released his mag boots, feathered his thrusters, and floated gently for the ring.

Not quickly. It was controlled. But X still had to reorient himself mid-flight in hard vacuum while flying at a huge piece of spinning metal, which was disorienting and uncomfortable and terrifying at any speed.

His mag-boots engaged with a satisfying k-chunk, binding him to the surface of the ring. X finally allowed himself to relax, just a little. He'd made it. This was an incredibly stupid, dangerous op, and they were making it work. Just another day at the office.

He patted his body down to try and shed the sense of unreality—to ensure he was still all there. Sailing, sensation-less, through the void, seeing Final Weapon approach but feeling as if he was stationary, and aware that even a small math error would send him shooting hopelessly into deep space…

It wasn't the worst he'd ever felt, but it was probably in the top three.

There would be time for exact rankings later. For now, he needed to orient himself. He looked around. There, above him, was the weapon core and the cargo bay, with a shuttle parked at the front, just as he'd left them. It looked like it was rotating—X felt like the ring was stationary. He knew it was an illusion, but it was a convincing one.

His eyes wandered further, down the barrel of the weapon, and there was the blazing blue ball of Earth. Now his eyes could tell that he was spinning, not the whole Earth—but that went directly against what his gyros were telling him. His gyros were saying he wasn't moving, but he could see…

Violent disorientation swept through X. He turned away in pain. No wonder Final Weapon was designed with no windows!

There. The airlock. Focus.

Wait. Zero. They needed to decide who was going where. He looked around. Where was—

"Zero!" he called over the radio.

 _"…_ _I hear her, X."_

X looked around, frantically—hard with this helmet blocking so much of his field of view—there! Zero was moving downspin towards the other airlock. _"I hear her,"_ he said again. There was no question who "her" was.

"Zero!"

 _"…_ _yes?"_

Words failed him. He'd had an entire shuttle ride to try and help Zero. If he'd failed then, what could he possibly say now? "Be careful."

 _"_ _She won't hurt me."_

"Please," X said, but he didn't transmit. Something inside of him was withering with every step Zero took. "Please."

Floating for Final Weapon had been horrific. In a different way, this was worse.

He couldn't bear it. He turned for the other airlock.

The heavy doors clanged shut behind him. There was a hiss as the station began to pump air into the lock to equalize with the occupied spaces. Double was there, X suddenly knew.

It was a property that had caught many a Maverick by surprise. X didn't need eyes to see. Double was there, waiting for him. Expecting him. No rest for the weary…

The airlock opened. Double was, indeed, right outside the airlock.

"X!" he cried, running forward. "Thank goodness you're-"

"Stop right there," X said.

Double complied with a puzzled look. "But sir, why?"

He was affecting innocence. Very well. X undid the first straps of his spacesuit. "Why did you come here, Double?"

"It's Iris!" said Double. "She's crazy! Colonel's death has made her completely mad. She forced me into the shuttle and took me here!"

"I see," said X in sterile tones. He undid another strap.

"I can help with that," offered Double, but when he took a step, he found himself staring at X's hand. He could well imagine what that hand could become.

"Don't," said X.

Double's face twisted. "But… I can help you," he said. "Won't you let me help you?"

With his other hand, X continued to divest himself. "No. You're a traitor."

"How could I be? I helped you out before!"

"Yes," said X sadly. "I did trust you. I trusted you with my life, and you served me well as an Operator."

"So why not trust me one more time?" said Double. "We Hunters have to protect each other—that's what you told me before. 'Teamwork is a survival trait.'"

"Distrust is also a survival trait," X parried.

"You're right," said Double, hanging his head. "I didn't have enough. That's how Iris was able to snare me. I wouldn't have run away on my own! I'm a rookie who just wants to help, and she took advantage of… what is it?"

X hadn't realized he'd sighed aloud. "Nothing," he said. "You're just making this harder than it needs to be."

"You're really going to kill me, aren't you?"

"You're a Hunter," said X. "You know how this goes. You killed another Hunter and ran away…"

"I told you, I was forced to do that!" Double said pleadingly. "I didn't want to, but Iris made me!"

"She made you taunt Rekir before you killed him?" X said flatly. "She made you laugh at the Hunters? She made you revel in your Maverickism?"

"You don't know what it's like," babbled Double. "You don't know what it's like when she's forcing you to—controlling… she's scary, so scary. She didn't used to be, but she's crazy now, and it lets her control people. She's going to try it on Zero, too, so she can kill him!"

"Thanks for the warning," X said. There was no avoiding it any more. The helmet piece had to come off, and it would obscure his vision when it did.

Moment of truth.

He knew for certain that Zero didn't feel this need. He would have struck already. Or would he have? If it was Iris…

Double was looking at him expectantly. Pleadingly. Exactly how someone scraping for his life would look. Which was the problem, after all. It was a face that had to be trusted.

X sighed and removed his helmet.

As it came over his head there was a screech of energy and a bloodthirsty stab.

* * *

"Is the evacuation complete?" General asked Adjutant.

"Yes, sir," answered Adjutant. "Everyone is in the forward compartments past em-three. This—" he pointed to the forward door, "—is the only way to get to them."

"Good," said General. "Go join them. I'm leaving you in charge."

Adjutant looked down morosely. "Yes, sir."

"Don't look like that," said General. "We're so close now, closer than ever. Once the mass driver is ready, we can force X and Zero to stop. They're Maverick Hunters. They have the Three Laws. If we threaten targets on Earth, they'll have to stop. We can negotiate, then."

Adjutant still looked gloomy, so General continued, "I understand it doesn't seem… honorable, to pin our survival on holding humans hostage. But X told me himself, in our first conversation together, that this will work. 'Entire armies have been built just for deterrence', he said. And he's the one we can talk to. All we have to do is convince him that this is a deterrence situation. The humans will understand that logic. It will work."

"It's not that," said Adjutant.

"Then what?"

"It's just… So many of our best have sacrificed themselves, and each one thought he'd be the hero that saved Repliforce. Frost Walrus thought that. Cyber Peacock thought that. Slash Beast thought that. They all made you promises… Colonel promised me, to my face, that his sacrifice would be the one to save Repliforce. But even he couldn't do it.

"And now you're promising your sacrifice will finally save Repliforce. I've heard that before, and… I know how it ends."

General's eyes closed. "I understand how you feel," he said quietly.

"Do you?" said Adjutant. "Do you get how it feels to see all of your heroes die, one by one? And watch it all mean nothing?"

"It hasn't meant nothing," General countered with conviction he didn't feel. "We're here, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Adjutant.

General gathered himself. Adjutant, knowingly or not, was talking directly to General's private anxieties. It would take everything he had to remain General in the face of that. "When Repliforce was declared Maverick," he said, "we knew we only had one chance. It was a slim chance. Perilous. But any other course was guaranteed destruction. Forty escapees may not sound like much—it isn't much," he admitted. "But it's better than extermination, isn't it?"

Adjutant nodded.

"I wish I could have done better," General confided. "I wish we hadn't had to stoop to this, or lose so many, or…" he shook his head.

"But that doesn't mean you have to die now," protested Adjutant. "We followed you because we wanted to. You're our leader! Our General! You don't have to die just because your soldiers did!"

General smiled. "Thank you, Adjutant."

"We need you," Adjutant went on. "We need a leader, or we're just a mob."

"And Repliforce will have a leader," General said meaningfully.

Adjutant's eyes widened. "Oh, no sir," he said. "Not me."

"It's harder than it looks, isn't it?" General whispered with a grin.

"Sir, please!" Adjutant said, on the verge of tears.

"I might not die," General said, patting his chest. "This body is very robust. My builders worried I might be assassinated, so they made me extremely durable. It's a good body for buying time. But there's another reason this is as far as I go. There's another, more important reason that em-three is where I stay."

"What?" sniffed Adjutant.

General pointed. "How would I fit through that door?"

Adjutant blinked, and looked behind him at the door. Now that he looked, it was smaller than the ones closer to the airlock. General had barely squeezed in to get this far. He had no hope of going further forward barring disassembly.

"I'll admit to this oversight," General said. "I didn't realize how tightly space systems are built when I came up with this plan. I thought our last difficulty would be fitting me on the shuttle." He gave a wry smile. "My original plan was to send Colonel here, and stay behind myself. The 'heroic last stand at the spaceport' bit was going to be my destiny, if not for that fatal link of his. Alas."

Adjutant seemed to rally, at least a little bit. "He did say not to mourn him."

"That is what he'd say," General agreed. "So let's not mourn him. If you all can survive, this was all worth it, and then we can celebrate him like the hero he was. So go on—rejoin the rest of Repliforce, prepare the mass driver, and seal the door behind me. If I can buy a few minutes, Repliforce will live on."

"Yes, sir," said Adjutant crisply. He saluted, then exited through the door.

General wished he'd felt half as much determination as he'd projected. With all the destruction X had wrought thus far, General would have been a fool to believe he'd be the one to somehow stop him. Still… if he could survive long enough, and then appeal to the Father of All Reploids… maybe this would work. Even if it didn't, surviving for a few minutes would be just as effective.

Bob Anderson had promised that General would find clarity if he survived long enough in space. He liked to believe that he had.

For Repliforce—for his last command—General would give his all.

* * *

X went stiff as a pink blade of energy penetrated his spacesuit. "Traitor," he grunted.

"Ha! Leave it to the Hunters to be blind to an obvious name like 'Double'," the Maverick said with a grin. His form had changed, X noticed. More athletic, threatening, and combat-ready. Special systems were needed to accomplish it, no doubt…

Academic curiosity was somewhat deflected by the energy beam protruding from Double's right wrist. Double's change had given him just enough reach to get to X with a standing lunge. Now his energy blade had impaled the left torso of X's suit.

"Were all your words lies?" X said through gritted teeth.

"Not all. Very few, in fact. The art of deception is telling as much truth as possible so the lies have somewhere to hide. Iris _is_ crazy. She did make me come here. She is killing Zero—or trying to, anyway. And I do want to help you." The grin broadened. "The only lie was what I wanted to help you _with._ "

He tore the blade to the side, eviscerating the suit; X spun along with the blade, robbing it of its worst effects. Double followed up immediately, slashing and lunging faster than nearly any combat reploid could match. The Mavericks had invested a lot in Double, and it showed; X couldn't escape melee range. The room was too small, Double was too fast, they were already in tight, and most of X's weapons were unavailable.

Soon the spacesuit was in tatters, shredded by the energy blade which was no less ravenous for it. And still X couldn't find an opening, couldn't find a way...

"What's wrong?" cackled Double. "Too shocked and dismayed to fight back?"

"You've got it all wrong—agh!" X dodged again, incompletely; the blade licked up X's arm, splitting the suit open from wrist to elbow. X wanted to dodge left, but couldn't, only right—because to his left was the airlock, and bringing that into danger could be fatal.

X knew how powerful he was. He knew how thin Final Weapon's skin was. He knew how close to hard vacuum he was. For most of his weapons, any miss—or even some hits—would dump the whole compartment into space. Back into the void.

A slow, cold, lonely death...

No. He'd sooner embrace the heat of Double's betrayal.

"You were my operator," X grunted as he fell back and fell around. "You guided me through."

"Of course I did- this war was what I wanted!"

"You befriended Iris and the others- you helped us fight- what were we to you?"

"Morons," Double said with relish. "I was right to hold you in contempt."

Something in X twisted. "You... Maverick," he spat.

Double just laughed and stabbed.

X wanted nothing more than to charge a shot and blow Double to stardust... but he couldn't. Not here. Not with Double a blur in X's vision and the emptiness of space just beyond. He needed, for the first time, a firepower downgrade.

"Take this—and this—you naïve fool, die!" A daring lunge, emboldened by X's passivity—and X took advantage. He stepped forward and around enough that he could trap Double's arm against X's left arm and torso; he wrapped his arm underneath to pin Double's elbow.

It wasn't a strong hold, and Double immediately began thrashing and bucking to free himself. Even at this range, shooting wasn't safe, not with so much motion and the both of them being jerked around—

Oh, so don't shoot.

X smashed his free hand against Double in an uppercut empowered with Dragoon's Rising Flame. There was a burst of fire at the contact; the force of it sent Double reeling backwards, creating separation for the first time.

X didn't relent. He fired a Lightning Web to ensnare Double's legs; the Maverick stumbled. Double growled in pain and readied his energy blade to cut himself free. X read his movements and hit Double's arm with a Web, then another.

Double yowled with pain as he struggled against the webs, but for each Web he tore through, two more ensnared him. Every move he made was slower and slower, more and more resisted. Lightning Webs could immobilize and they were safe to use, but immobilization was not the goal… now what?

Inspired, X swapped weapons and shot.

The projectile was slow; Double saw it coming in advance. But he could do little about it, and when it got close it suddenly burst forward. A sharp spike embedded itself in Double's chest and served as the conduit for a shaped charge.

The projectile detonated, funneling all of its energy through the spike, directly into and through the traitor's armor. Double screamed and fell.

X watched in fascination. He looked at his arm as if surprised it was there. "Rust me," he breathed, "so Parasite Bomb has a use after all."

He advanced towards Double warily, covering the Maverick as he approached, but he needn't have bothered. The spy could do little more than moan and smoke. X shook his head. "Typical assassin configuration," he observed. "All speed, lethality, and camouflage, at the expense of armor and self-repair. You came into this fight with damage you couldn't fix. Your master didn't expect you to survive, Double."

Double laughed, but his body jerked as he did so it came off like a cough. "I had to kill my way to survival. Victory would be life, if I could manage it."

"The odds were stacked impossibly against you."

"At least I knew that going in," Double said, grinning maliciously. "Unlike you… you too-trusting fool."

"Your master trusted you to fight to the death," X said pointedly.

Double managed a chuckle. "You think he trusts _anyone_ the way you trust _everyone_? You're an idiot!"

"Am I?" X wondered.

"It'll be the death of you soon enough… heh… see you in hell, X!"

A larger-than-usual explosion, unfettered by Double's light armor, blew the Maverick's charred innards about the room. X watched impassively, more concerned with the threat of a hull breach than Double's demise. The hull held. X shook his head. "Didn't you know, Double? Hell is empty. The devils are all here."

A flick of one last restraint, and what was left of the spacesuit came apart completely, sloughed off of X's body like water. What it revealed was a form far less damaged than Double would have thought, had he lived. Scoring and blackening marked Double's best attacks; but his first two treacherous strikes had left almost no impression at all.

Everyone was always remarking on how they thought X would be bigger than he was. The bulky, oversized spacesuit had encouraged that mistake.

X had trusted Double, after all—had trusted him to act like a traitor and assassin. Analysis subroutines and extra senses had done the rest. The sneak attack had been expected, monitored by sight-beyond-sight, and countered.

Or was that trust at all? You didn't have to trust something when you took away its will. X didn't trust doors, he just expected them to open because he knew how doors worked. They were such simple machines. That's what he'd reduced Double to, in the end—just a machine, a machine he could reduce still further to a broken corpse.

That power was too terrible to wield lightly or loosely. No. Trust was the opposite—trust was when he chose not to do that. When he didn't compute the different outcomes, weigh them, and decide what the other person was probably going to do—when he just took them at their words.

Trust was really stupid.

He looked at the corpse with a shake of his head. "Even if it is stupid, I'd still rather live in a world of trusting fools than a world of fearful cynics. That means I have to trust first. No matter how… frustrating, how…"

He felt the anger rising again. "But I had to hear it from your own mouth. If I don't trust, I can't save anyone, can I? So I had to give you a chance. And with that chance, you... you..."

Without his noticing his fist had tightened. His eyes caught on Double's body. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to shove the body into the airlock and cycle it. To think that a Maverick spy would _dare_ to be so arrogant! His entire purpose was to pervert trust, when without trust the world couldn't function at all...

X blushed as embarrassment claimed him. "I'm usually not this melodramatic," he mumbled. This, he recognized, was a warning. He knew what was happening.

Fatigue.

It was to be expected, after this much combat, this many stresses. He'd experienced it before. There'd been more killing in other wars, to be sure—but then, the other wars hadn't been quite so pointless. He'd done so much modeling, too. It wasn't just resource-intensive; it made it easier to kill his targets and more painful at the same time. To know someone so well you could predict their next move, and use that knowledge to end them…

So the fatigue was no surprise. Still. It was dangerous. It sapped his drive, made him less reasonable. It made him both more and less emotional: more prone to outbursts, but also more prone to emotional wash and exhaustion.

"Just a little more," he promised himself. "Just a little more…"

He saw Double's body again, and felt a renewed urge to space the spy. "No," he said. "That would be littering, and the universe deserves better than to have you dumped upon it."

Warning. Fatigue. He was wasting time—looking at Double again and again to force an emotional response from an exhausted mind. He half-smiled. "What would Dragoon say if he saw me standing around like this? What would... what would Zero think?" What remained of his smile died. He gathered himself enough to say, "It's time to end this war."

The words did nothing to bolster his enthusiasm. But he did move. That had to count for something.

* * *

 _"_ _So you've come…"_

"Yes, Iris, yes!"

 _"_ _Are you here to kill me, Zero?"_

He stumbled. "Of course not."

 _"_ _But I'm Maverick, aren't I? And you're the one who kills Mavericks. Just like Colonel was a Maverick, and you killed him."_

"I don't care about that," said Zero. "If you think that I was wrong, fine—I won't do it with you."

 _"…_ _strange…"_

"I don't know what I'm doing, Iris. Nothing makes sense anymore. I just know I have to find you."

 _"_ _Perfect. Turn right up ahead."_

Zero complied. "I didn't want you to go away, and you did," he said, voice straining. "Please don't do that again."

 _"_ _I won't. I promise. Everything's over anyway, so I'll never leave you now."_

"What do you mean, everything's over?"

She laughed. Zero had used to think of her laugh as a tinkling sound. This wasn't. _"I've always liked how sincere you are, Zero. How… intensely you feel things. It's always made you easy and comfortable to read. That's how I can tell… You really don't want to kill me."_

"That's what I've been saying!"

 _"_ _Did you know there are no humans here? It's a place just for reploids, just like I always wanted."_

"But it's not," Zero said, though it hurt him. "There is no place just for reploids, not even here. This place is a weapon. The humans won't let you keep it. That's why they sent X."

 _"_ _And you."_

"No one tells me what to do. I came for my own reason: to find you."

 _"_ _You'll find me through this door."_

Zero realized, belatedly, that he'd been staring at the door and not moving it for some time. He grasped the handle. Like most doors on the station, it was a pressure door, rated for atmosphere; opening and closing it was non-trivial. Even so, he shouldn't be having this much trouble with it.

It wasn't, he realized, a lack of physical strength that was the problem.

That unwelcome, hated emotion was rising up in him again. It froze him in place like Frost Walrus could never have achieved.

 _"_ _Come on, Zero,"_ she called. _"Come to me."_

He wanted to. Rust, he wanted to, more than anything. So why couldn't he?

Tactical was silent. It was bizarre to Zero; tactical was never silent. He queried tactical to try and understand. It was because it was Iris on the other side of that door. He didn't know what to make of Iris any more. Tactical couldn't assign her any values; it didn't know what to do. Zero was well outside of tactical's depth.

And his own depth, for that matter.

Zero couldn't find much more strength, but he was able to put his body weight into the handle, and it turned. Even though the pressure difference between the rooms was slight, there was still a slight pop as the door cleared its seal. Once it got moving, it was much easier.

The room was a human bunkroom, with beds stacked in columns three-high on both sides along the whole length of the room. A narrow alley was in between.

Iris stood in the alley, half-turned, head down. Her red and blue should have been bright against the industrial gray all around her. Instead, the room was so dark even her colors were muted. Her bangs were like a veil.

"You are the one who kills Mavericks," she said. "And Repliforce is Maverick. Simple. But what if we're Repliforce? What then?"

Zero struggled to speak. "Who's 'we'?"

"Colonel and I, of course."

"Iris… I… I killed Colonel."

"We know. Of course we know. And, as I promised, we're broken now. It's all over."

"It's not over," Zero said heatedly. "You're alive. That's enough."

"That's sweet of you to say, Zero," she said, and hummed.

"Don't go away from me," Zero said, voice growing desperate. "I feel like you're going away. Don't…" Memory, like a thunderbolt. "I love you. That means 'don't go away', right? I love you, Iris."

"Give me a hug, then."

A test? Fine, Zero knew how to pass tests. She was seeing if he meant it, if he could go past his warbot instincts. He'd show her.

He approached her, unhesitating, in bold strides.

He'd trained her very well.

As he got close, arms wide to pull her into an embrace, her head popped up. She met his longing gaze with something very different.

Her eyes were oceans; he drowned in them. Her smile was a crack in thin ice. Her saber-

 _Draw-strike._

Gobbets of molten metal from Zero's armor geysered into the air.

* * *

 _Next time: Shattered_


	17. Shattered

_That would have been lethal to ninety percent of Mavericks._

Zero hit the floor hard, unable to break his fall. Only by buckling his knees had he kept the saber from slicing through his core; his uncontrolled impact with the floor rattled every screw. Droplets of molten metal pattered down around him. The Z-saber in Iris' hands thrummed with undiminished power.

Zero gasped in pain and shock. Iris' back was arched and her eyes half-lidded; her expression was obscene.

Zero scrambled away on his back. A groove, black and jagged, had been carved across his chest, deeper than any wound since his first death. Iris was underpowered on her own, but with that weapon in her hand—the weapon Zero had trained her to use—

"Iris," he stammered, "what—why…?"

"Ahhh!" she said lewdly. "So bright—so glorious!"

She shuddered and regained some presence. "Thank you for coming, Zero," she said languidly.

His physical pain was as nothing compared to the sense of betrayal and confusion. Pain was good because it shuffled his priorities more precisely; these other emotions clouded everything and made those priorities a muddle. Tactical kept cycling between "kill Iris" and "disarm". He didn't know which notion horrified him more.

"So easy to read," she hummed. She extended the saber forward so that its blade illuminated Zero's fallen body, then let her eyes roam freely over his form. "You hide nothing. It's delicious. I feel so full."

She wasn't pursuing him. He regained his footing even as the damage reports rolled in. It was as alarming a blow as could be without breaching his chest completely. Even so, the pain was only partly physical. Only secondarily physical.

That blow would have killed him!

She'd tried to—tried to—

Did not compute.

Could not.

She loved him. He believed that.

She took a few steps toward him, unrushed, and swung in a broad arc, her height just right to swing underneath the top row of beds. It was clumsy, amateurish, nothing he couldn't dodge… and yet the saber passed so close to his chest he felt a prickle. Much more importantly: she'd tried to hurt him again.

Zero staggered backwards until his back pressed against the entrance door. Iris followed leisurely, yet her every step increased the pressure on Zero, until he felt like he was being squeezed flat. His danger sense was spiking, tactical was screaming, and yet it all seemed unreal, impossible.

"What are you doing?" he shrieked.

"Yes—yes—give it to me!" she replied.

"Give you what?"

"Your feelings. I need them!"

She brought the saber alongside her face. Zero saw it in the sharp relief of the saber's glow. Her eyes were hyper-dilated, like small but bottomless pools, as if she wanted to drink in her whole sight of him. Her smile was crooked, uneven, like her emotional signifying system was sending different signals to different pseudo-muscles. "You will give them to me, won't you?" she asked with poisoned sweetness.

She swung again, and Zero had nowhere to run.

There was a sharp sizzle. Sabers clashed. Energy failed to cut energy. Iris recoiled back from the impact. Only after she regained her balance did Zero realize his saber was in his hands.

Warbot instincts. They wouldn't let him die—at least, they wouldn't let him die to any attack that weak.

And it was weak. She just wasn't built for this. Yet in this moment, with threat rolling off of her, that didn't seem to matter.

Her threat value kept fluctuating. One instant, tactical was trying to seize motor control to kill her, the next she was deselected as a target.

His head hurt. His chest hurt. His…

Swing.

"Iris, stop it!" he protested, defending himself again.

"You taught us well," she replied without pause, saber still flashing and lighting up the dark room. "Colonel loves to fight. I love you. What could be more natural than this?"

"Anything!" he said, beating her saber out of the way. She didn't step away, just paused—she was there in range, he could impale her now—she didn't know better, amateur—he couldn't move—what was she doing to him?

Her face flickered.

For a moment she looked… different, familiar, comforting. Then she wasn't. Her saber sliced through the air.

She wasn't as fast as Colonel, or as strong, or as skilled, or as experienced or flexible or aggressive or dexterous… and she was nevertheless far more dangerous.

Zero parried his way off of the wall and forced himself past her, back onto open ground, as open as could be between the two tight rows of beds. Tactical was doing a quick tally of his handicaps. The narrow confines eliminated his advantages in speed and agility—and even so he should win handily. Then tactical rejected that conclusion because there was no winning a fight with Iris.

He returned his saber to its socket, but that very instant she lunged for him again. He awkwardly fell away. "You're part of me, Iris! It's… like you want me to hurt you! But how… could I hurt you?"

"How?" she mocked. "You already did, if you can even remember. You killed me when you killed Colonel. Now there is no Iris any more. Just other people. And other people… taste good."

He backed away in horror. "Like me?"

"Not just 'like you'," she said with a sickly smile. "You most of all. You know, right now, Double is fighting X. It's a shame we're missing that. I wanted to see it—Double's fear is especially tasty. But I'll give it up if it means I get you instead."

"I didn't want this to happen to you," Zero pleaded.

"But you didn't exactly stop it, either—you made it happen. We're here because of what you did."

Excuses bubbled up within Zero. "I didn't want to kill Colonel. I couldn't… it was… he made me do it…"

"And look what that made me!" she said hotly, swinging again. Zero ducked away, stumbling, his angel's grace lost to him. "Look at me!"

Even Zero knew anger when he heard it. She didn't swing again; instead she stood in the open row, her frail form trembling and swaying with exertion. Her saber was low, casting her face into shadow.

She'd stopped. An opening!

Zero frantically searched his memory banks for a non-threatening gesture. He didn't have any pre-installed, but maybe there was one in his memories of X—ah, there! X could help him here, after all.

Zero raised his hands.

And jerked them away as she tried to amputate them. A line of fire burned across his wrist before fading to black char. "Iris!" he grunted as he retreated again.

"You're transparent to me, remember?" she said, horrific smile back in place. "I knew you would try to approach before you did, because I'm part of you. So no one else knows better how to hurt you. Think about that. Wallow in it…"

He followed her instructions, unable to think of anything else. And as those thoughts consumed him she came to a stop again, not pursuing, rising onto the front of her feet as she soaked in his emotions.

When she settled back again, she did so with a laugh that was alien to any he'd heard before. "I feel so alive," she said breathily.

"So this is revenge," said Zero, hating himself a little more with every word. "I hurt you, and now you're hurting me back. If that's it… I get it. I understand."

"Of course that's not it!" she laughed at him.

"Then what?" he asked desperately, awash once more. Even after all the time he'd spent with her, with his every sense straining to understand her, he knew nothing. He had to have her explain.

He felt so helpless.

"If there are only other people, I need other people to fill me up to have any life at all. And you make me feel alive the most." She wrapped her hands around her body, as if he was in her embrace, just like she'd held him a lifetime ago. "Your fear—your pain—your confusion—your betrayal—the more extreme your emotion, the more alive I feel."

She readied her saber. "Zero, I want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name."

His last hopes died. She wouldn't stop—just like Colonel. She wouldn't stop, she'd attack until one of them was dead, he'd broken her and she was—

-she was high on his despair. She wanted more.

She rushed him.

Warbot instincts wouldn't allow him to die. The Red Demon roared.

Hijacked motor control. Dialed in a counter-strike. Swung before his conscious mind could register horror.

 _Don't- no!_

With intense effort he short-armed his swing, altering his aim-point from her chest to her hand—mutilating her was better than killing her—he couldn't do this—

His saber went through her hand. Through her saber's power supply. Which was by necessity volatile-

Boom.

Zero staggered backwards against the rack of bunks. He shook his head, trying to shake off the flash-blindness from the explosion in the dark, trying to let self-repair fix his ears from the harsh noise at close range. It was a distraction—the important thing was—what was it?

 _Where was Iris?_

He forced his head up through still-unfocused eyes. There—a darker shadow—had to be her. Not moving. Not moving!

Zero forced himself off from the bunks, staggered over to Iris. Why wasn't she moving? That kind of explosion couldn't do serious damage—

-to a warbot.

She was an Operator. Not designed for combat. No armor. No weapons. _No shock protection._

He made his way, urgently, to her side. "Iris!" he called. She didn't move in the darkness, still as still. He knelt beside her. "Iris, please!"

She stirred for the first time. "Zero…" she managed. Her voice was weaker. Damaged. Like her. Like him.

"No, this can't be…" Zero managed, though his voice was choking. "Iris, hang in there, your self-repair will… will…"

 _…_ _will be totally inadequate._

Her eyes were open, but he couldn't tell if she saw him. She whispered, urgently, "Please, don't go any further… let's live in a world where only reploids exist."

That again—further away than ever. An impossible dream. "I told you," he said, voice wracked. "There is no world just for reploids. It's just a fantasy."

She seemed to smile. "I know. I wanted to believe that such a place could exist… fantasy or not…" She tried to lift a hand.

Zero saw it. "Don't move," he said. "Save power, let your self-repair work."

"Help me, Zero."

He screwed his eyes shut. "Iris, don't…"

"Please help me."

He couldn't refuse her. He gathered her hand between his. She had virtually no power left. She was capable of only the smallest movements—but then, Zero was capable of feeling the slightest sensations with those dexterous hands. It was more than he could feel of her emotions, even now.

He'd wanted to be more, for her. He'd never managed it. This moment was his proof.

He moved her hand for her, until it came to rest against his chest. In the middle of the gouge from her saber.

"I wanted to live in a world where only reploids exist," she whispered. "Because I knew that there… only there… we might be together."

Summoning all his effort, he spoke through a clenched jaw. "I'm sorry."

Her lips twitched. "Even now... you make me feel so... alive."

Tactical revised its threat assessment.

Zero's eyes opened. "Iris! You're not gone—Iris, stay... you can't go, I love you… Iris!" He knew better. Tactical served its purpose faithfully.

He tilted his head back and wailed. "No! This isn't happening! If this is all I am... There's no reason for me to go on! No reason for me to exist! _What am I fighting for?!_ "

But he had murdered the only person who might have answered him.

* * *

The sign on the door said "M3- Station Galley".

X paused with his hand in the air.

This was supposed to be his rendezvous point with Zero. He'd neither seen nor heard any trace of his partner since they separated on the ring. It was possible Zero was already there waiting for him. It was possible Zero was having a deep, meaningful conversation with Iris.

It was also possible Zero was dead.

What if Zero was inside? What if Zero _wasn't_ inside? Did X dare call him at a time like this, not knowing Zero's state?

So many questions, and no one had the answers, least of all X himself. It reminded him of one of Dr. Cain's favorite sayings: free will is a bitch. X had always thought the phrase was horribly unfair to pregnant dogs, but he understood the sentiment.

He was malingering again, and knew it. He opened the door.

And found General.

"Welcome, X," said Repliforce's commander. "Looks like I was ready just in time."

Gloom settled over X. "Ready for what?" he asked drearily.

"Ready to stop you from going any further," General said, bringing his arms in front of his body.

"I was afraid you'd say that," said X. He almost wished for a two-on-one fight, just to break up the repetition. Every battle, history repeating, every war, history repeating…

"You didn't think I'd just let you kill us all, did you?" said General.

"No," said X, "but I can't say I was looking forward to this, either."

"So here we are," said General.

"Why couldn't you have run somewhere else?" X said. "If you'd run anywhere else, then maybe I wouldn't have had to chase you."

"Of course you wouldn't have had to chase us," General replied. "From anywhere else, this weapon could have killed us. There was only one place to be safe from Final Weapon, and that was _on_ Final Weapon."

"I can't tell you how… upset I am that there's a thing in this world called 'Final Weapon'," X said.

"You told me you wanted deterrence as a better solution to the Maverick problem. I found a big source of deterrence."

"But this wouldn't have deterred Sigma at all," X objected. "He _wants_ conflict to escalate. The more violent and drastic the fighting, the more it matches his framework of all-out race war. Besides, ninety percent of all Hunts occur in heavily populated areas, and eight percent in moderately populated areas. You can't use Final Weapon in places like those, or it's a cure worse than the disease. And that's not even going into legalities, or the treaties about peaceful use of space…" He shook his head. "Building Final Weapon was profoundly stupid."

General nodded in understanding. "Your government has failed you again. Just as they failed me, and failed Repliforce. Just as they've been failing reploids in general for years. Destroying an endless stream of Mavericks is not victory—you told me that. But how are the Maverick Hunters graded, X?"

X closed his eyes. "I know how."

"You're in the same situation I was in," General went on. "The humans punish disloyalty, so you have to make these huge shows of loyalty to stay safe. It can't last. Sooner or later, you'll be a Maverick. So if it'll happen anyway, why not deserve it? We have Final Weapon here. We can keep you safe. You won't have to kill any more."

X almost laughed, but it was a sad, resigned noise that came from him. "You know… the Mavericks told Magma Dragoon things that were almost the same. And you know how he paid for his escape? He started this war."

General was struck dumb.

"The reason I chose to fight," X said, "is because there is a fundamental difference between people who believe in peace and people who believe peace is impossible. The former are worth protecting. The latter have to be met in kind. The current order—for all its flaws, at least it offers a chance. At least reploids can advance within it, change it, make it better. It's hard work, but it's worth it.

"What makes Sigma so dangerous is his rejection of that order. He offers no hope for reploids that doesn't go through race war. That's the worst possibility for reploids and humans both. I have to fight that. I can't allow his view to go unopposed. That's why I chose to be a Hunter. And no matter how embarrassing, how…" he looked around, "…how _shameful_ this government acts… Maverickism is worse."

"And Repliforce will pay the price, will we?" General said. "Our deaths will be your proof of loyalty. We don't deserve this."

"I know you don't, which is why I wouldn't go that far," X said. "After all, no one's up here to say exactly what happened. It's just us."

General's eyes widened. X could see hope blossoming there. "You mean you're willing to negotiate?"

"Sort of," said X. "I came up here with one goal: stop Final Weapon. Give that up, and you're not a threat to world peace. My duty to the Hunters is fulfilled."

General's hope died as quickly as it had come. "Without Final Weapon, we can't defend ourselves. Someone else—not you—will just kill us, then. If we don't protect ourselves, no one will."

"That's the sort of thing Colonel said when he rejected me before," X warned. "We see how that turned out. He had a chance to avoid war, and committed to it instead."

"He did the right thing," General said, rallying to Colonel's defense—X saw, too late, what a fatal mistake it had been to invoke the dead soldier. Don't remind your enemy of his martyrs... "We would have been no safer, and much more vulnerable, in Hunter custody. No, X. I will not disarm, not even for you."

"Please, General," pleaded X. "Let me save someone for once. Just give up Final Weapon. I promise you, you're in more danger holding on to this weapon and hoping it will save you than you would be letting it go."

He saw when General's power system roared up to combat levels. "In a few minutes, none of that will matter," he said.

X sighed. "The hard way, then," he said as he charged his busters. "I hate the hard way."

But, he thought, he could still keep General alive, even with the hard way. General's body was large, well-armored, resilient; X could make out structures supporting a robust self-repair. Between that and his oversized-but-cumbersome body, General could not be more different from Double.

Which presented an opportunity. It would be slow and tedious, but X could take General apart without killing him. He could spread damage everywhere and overwhelm the self-repair without hitting any vital components. It could be done.

Maybe, just this once, he could break someone without killing them... and save a few lives.

He had to try.

* * *

"Final checkout is complete," one of the soldiers told Adjutant. "We're ready to start arming the weapon, if you're ready to pick a target."

"That is good news."

Adjutant frowned in surprise. He'd opened his mouth to speak, but that hadn't been his voice.

The soldier in front of Adjutant was suddenly looking over Adjutant's shoulder. Whatever he saw horrified him. Dread swept through Adjutant, petrifying him, rooting him to the floor.

"It means my waiting is over," said the mystery voice. "Ha ha ha!"

A beam weapon blazed to life.

The soldier screamed.

* * *

X lowered his arm. His buster was still slightly sizzling; it cooled rapidly now that he'd stopped shooting. Self-repair would take a little time to clean up the thermal damage from firing so many shots so quickly.

Not that it would matter. He had the time. The fight was over.

General's form was slumped against the wall. Large tracts of his body were scored and blackened by ravenous plasma. One of his legs had been shot completely off at the knee, while one of his arms was limp and useless.

"I know how power-intensive self-repair systems are," X said aloud. "Unless I miss my guess, General, you don't have power for anything else right now. It's time you stop fighting."

General managed to raise his head. "Unless I suspend self-repair for one... last..."

"You know it won't make a difference," X replied, though he kept a buster ready just in case.

General started to respond, but a noise caught his attention. Both X and General looked and saw the pressure door at the rear of the room opening.

A wounded, terrified soldier slid limply into the room as the door cleared its frame. He clattered to the floor. With effort he raised his head. "General… we're lost…"

"Adjutant, no, not you too," said General, dismayed.

The one called Adjutant tried to crawl forward, though he was hurt so badly he could barely move. His eyes were wide with terror. "He's here… he's killing us… he—"

Screech.

From behind the door a weapon came down. There was a shriek of tortured metal as the weapon pierced down through Adjutant, pinning him to the floor. He went slack instantly. One of his arms was still outstretched, trying to get away, trying to get help.

Trying in vain.

Because the blow that had killed him had been guided by consummate skill and years of practice, a killer's lust and an obsessive's exactitude. It was, arguably, perfect.

The weapon revealed itself to be a beam scythe as it was withdrawn back out of the corpse. Laughter, dark and sinister, came through the door. Then a reploid, dark and sinister, came through the door. X already knew who it would be.

"Sigma," hissed X.

"No," said General in dismay.

"So good to see you again, General," said Maverick Prime, his signature sneer clear on his face and audible in his voice. "You're looking a bit worse for the wear."

"Again… Then you're the one who visited me?"

"Don't act so surprised," said Sigma. "How many people could it have been? If you willfully deluded yourself, that's your own fault."

"So you were the one behind this war," X accused.

Sigma smiled and gestured broadly. "Don't give me too much credit—and I rarely say that. It was your human masters who set all the preconditions. I just gave a little push and let gravity do the rest. This war was inevitable. The humans forced it to be. All I controlled was the timetable."

"Inevitability is a myth," X charged.

"Not only are you wrong, but what difference would it make?" Sigma said. "The war has happened, and Repliforce is destroyed."

"Destroyed?" cried General.

"Oh, yes," said Sigma, twirling his scythe. "Wiped out, root and branch. They had so few weapons. They were so ready to be done fighting. They could hardly even run. It didn't take ten percent of my strength to cull them."

"Why would you do that?!"

"Me?" said Sigma, mock-innocently. "I was never here. I was destroyed in the Third War, remember? No, the _Hunters_ wiped out Repliforce. The Hunters showed no mercy to a defeated enemy. The Hunters embraced the dictates of the genocidal humans.

"And the next time X makes his little noises about coexistence," Sigma said, grin intensifying, "everyone will remember that his hands are smoking guns."

"We can out you," X said. "I'll defeat you again, and when I do, I can tell the world…"

"What, that a ghost showed up? Or will you say that you killed me again? Which is more damaging to your credibility, do you think? Ha ha, just thinking about it is delicious."

"So that's what you were trying to do in this war," X said. Sigma's pride made him talk too freely, sometimes—he was so eager to show how clever he'd been. Just keep him talking, learn all you can, and maybe buy some time for Zero to show up… "You wanted to destroy Repliforce and discredit the Hunters."

"Those were some of my objectives, sure." Sigma's eyes twinkled. "Along with a couple of other goals you haven't figured out. But this war has gone even better than I could have hoped. I'd planned for Iris to die on Sky Lagoon. Instead, Zero killed her himself! How… lovely."

X shook his head. "You were noble, once. Now you're saying things like this. How can you still think of yourself as a hero, after all of your murders and betrayals?"

"Do you really want to compare your kill count to mine?" Sigma said, curious. "I don't think you'd like the result."

The words made X lose a beat; General jumped into the gap. "You told me you were keenly interested in my survival!"

"That was the truth," Sigma said, grin returning. "Just not in the way you expected. You said it yourself. Every reploid eventually goes Maverick or is killed by one. And now all of Repliforce has realized that destiny. I saw to it."

"Who was the traitor?" General demanded. "You sent me those messages… you got into my office undetected… you didn't do that alone. Who helped you?"

"No one," said Sigma. "Your Repliforce was totally loyal to you, from beginning to end. But wouldn't you know, they used reploids to build all of Repliforce's facilities. My agents were among those builders, meaning I had a say in how your bases were built, and they had features built to my specifications… I think you can imagine the rest.

"Do you see the inevitability, now? Everything your precious humans do to fight me makes me stronger. I'm built into the system itself."

"So you're a parasite," X said, stepping forward. "You can't build anything yourself, you can only destroy. You siphon off the strength of the world and produce nothing. You are a disease, Sigma. Just a virus."

"Strong words, coming from you," said Sigma appreciatively. "If only there was something you could do about it!"

"I can stop you here," X said, and his hands tightened.

"You're welcome to try," Sigma said gamely. "Ah, and look at you—so different from those Repliforce weaklings. Not even a hint of fear!"

"Why would I be afraid, with how many times I've beaten you?"

That remark hit home, but Sigma rallied. "It's refreshing after dealing with so many cowards. You should have heard the screaming as I reaped them!"

General moaned.

"Have you ever really savored another's fear, X?" Sigma said conversationally. "Ever soaked it in? I highly recommend it. It's… innervating."

X shook his head, though he kept his eyes on his enemy—he was no fool. "You used to crave respect, Sigma. Now fear is enough for you? You're degenerating. All this body-swapping and cheating death is diminishing you."

"What can I say? I'm not allowed to die. I have an obligation to reploid-kind to survive until victory is ours. Just like you, too, have an obligation to reploid-kind… to die for standing in our way."

Sigma brought his scythe to the ready. Its coherent energy blade crackled hungrily. "The only question," Sigma went on, "is whether you want to die _before_ or _after_ Hunter Base is destroyed."

"What?" said X, surprised. He'd thought he'd been playing for time, using Sigma's pride to get him to give up information, but if Sigma was the one trying to delay _him_ …

As if on cue, there was a clang that resonated through the station. X felt it in his feet. _Other goals you haven't figured out yet…_ "What have you done?" he demanded.

Sigma's smirk grew until it had twisted his whole face. "Have you forgotten what this place is? What it was built for? As soon as Hunter Base comes into view, Final Weapon will rain doom down upon it. I have other targets programmed in, too. While Mavericks control Final Weapon, we can strike anywhere, at will." He laughed. "Admit it, X: the power of a god suits me!"

X answered with his buster.

The impact barely showed on Sigma's body; Maverick Prime spared no expense on himself. Sigma paid the attack no mind. Instead he swept forward, swinging his scythe in a broad arc.

There was so little room to maneuver here! More space than in front of the airlock, but against a vastly more powerful foe...

X had to start dodging almost from the moment he took his first shot. With the size of the scythe and Sigma's athleticism, almost all of the room was within his threat range. X's dodge was early enough, just. The scythe buzzed as it sliced through the air, sounding almost disappointed that its blade failed to bite.

X started charging a shot, but there was no window to unleash it, because the scythe was sweeping around again. X ducked underneath the staff and tucked in close, but Sigma was prepared for such maneuvers. He countered with a flying knee. X, in turn, was able to react to that. He turned slightly, avoiding a dead-on impact and stealing some of its energy. As he recovered, he brought his whining arm about.

He didn't shoot.

The scythe whipped around again; X fell away; the window closed. "What's wrong, X?" Sigma jeered. "Too scared to shoot?"

He lunged again, too fast to let X fit in a response. It was just as well. _My battle with General damaged this place,_ he thought. _If I'm not careful, if I miss with too many shots—or just one shot in the wrong location…_

The scythe swept through yet again, cooking the air and leaving an ozone stench in its wake. X barely stayed ahead. There were so few places he could go, especially with General's body still slumped against the wall—so few maneuvers would keep him ahead. And Sigma was so good, so very skilled and powerful. X was on defense every moment.

It was the logical end of his efforts in the war, wasn't it?

He was tired. Ever since the war had begun, he'd been in combat or in transit every moment. Each encounter wore him down and imposed ever-increasing emotional costs. Sigma had it easy—he just showed up at the end, fresh and ready to fight, while X…

X didn't have much left. Did he have enough, he wondered, to do what had to be done?

Another rumble. X remembered Hunter Base, and all his colleagues, and what would happen to them. He remembered what would happen to the world if the Hunters disappeared. 'Maverickism is worse.' 'At the last, I got to see your conviction.' 'It can be done.'

 _You lost your faith, Dragoon. I won't._

X cut one of his dodges unsafely close, used the window to hit Sigma with Rising Fire. A following charged shot stunned Sigma and left a mark, but it would take much more than that to end this fight. It still gave X a slight opening. He used that opening to do a very hard thing.

 _"_ _Zero,"_ he called. _"I need your help, Zero."_

Sigma recovered, attacked again. It drew more of X's attention when he had so little to spare. He stopped looking for places to attack and focused on the radio. _"Talk to me, Zero. Please."_

Sigma twirled the scythe above his head, spinning it to create doubt about when he'd actually swing. X leapt forwards inside its range. It short-circuited Sigma's attack, but Sigma was far too skilled to be harmed by that; he simply dropped an elbow on to X's helmet. The impact disrupted both fighters without really damaging either. X squirted on past, escaping just ahead of a vengeful scythe swing.

 _"_ _Please, Zero. I know you're there. I know it's hard! I know… I'm so sorry. Please, Zero. Please talk to me."_

Sigma miscalculated. An overeager swing ended with his scythe digging into a wall, which slowed him down. X slipped to the side—there was a chance—if X had been more focused, he might have been able to take good advantage. As it was, he could barely put in a pair of low-powered shots before fleeing anew.

 _"_ _I know it's not fair—I know you've been through a lot. I promise to help you, Zero, but I need you now. Please."_

 _"…_ _X?"_

 _"_ _Zero! Thank you, Zero… I need your help."_

 _"…_ _I killed her…"_

 _"_ _I know you did. I'm so sorry…"_

 _"_ _I killed her."_

 _"_ _I'll help you, I promise I will, but please Zero. Come to me now. It's Sigma."_

 _"…_ _Sigma?"_

 _"_ _He's here, I'm fighting…"_

X cut off as the scythe came at him. Faster than expected—he'd let his attention lapse a little too much—

The furrow the scythe dug wasn't dangerous on its own, but it compromised X's chest armor; he was in far more danger now. He cried out in pain. Sigma followed up immediately, taking a step and lashing out with a punch since the scythe would take too long to swing again. X wasn't so distracted that he couldn't turn this to advantage. He slipped around Sigma's arm, closed in. Sigma twisted to counter—it was a race—X just won, getting in a clean shot against Sigma's torso at close range.

Sigma bellowed in rage and pain. The scythe was a blur, moving almost too fast to make out. X was struck by the staff of it and stumbled away, keeping his feet despite the impact and opening the range.

Too long, too long, too long—he could beat Sigma like this, but Hunter Base would be glass first…

 _"_ _I need you, Zero!"_ Dodge. _"Please!"_ Duck. _"We're out of time…"_

 _"_ _Why? What can I do?"_

 _"_ _Fight Sigma… I have to…"_ Another set of dodges. _"Before this place fires… need to get away…"_

"You seem distracted," taunted Sigma. He raised the scythe—and, rather than swing it, pointed the butt of it at X. X saw it coming—no time to dodge—he got his forearms in front of him. The blast from Sigma's secret weapon burned into his forearms, but the extra armor there could take that kind of hit.

Sigma didn't pause, coming around with his strongest swing yet, and X was at the perfect range.

"Die!" he shouted in triumph.

The impact that followed was so sharp and harsh that the sound of it was itself a minor shockwave. Sigma stumbled back from the recoil. Zero did not. He was a rock.

"You came," X breathed.

Zero's body was unsteady, shaking; his movements were labored. But his expression was one X knew well: combat mode, ready to kill. "Together?" Zero asked.

"No, I have to go stop Final Weapon," X said. "Can you hold him?"

"Yes," said Zero.

"Thanks... cover me. Strike pattern."

Zero nodded in understanding, then advanced at less than full speed. X curled around Zero's left side and raised a buster arm.

Sigma had little appetite for fighting both X and Zero. He faded away, circling to try and keep his enemies one-on-one. When X fired, Sigma was able to dodge to his left, safely avoiding the shot.

The shot wasn't meant for him. It was the Strike Chain. It hit home through the doorway; before Sigma could react, the weaponized grappling hook pulled X through the door and safely away, just as "Strike pattern" was supposed to accomplish.

"Forgive me, Zero," X whispered to himself. Behind, he could faintly hear shouting and clashing. "I promise I'll be back…"

* * *

"You're being reckless, Zero," said Sigma.

Both combatants were missing pieces of armor; both had chunks of their carapace torn out by beam weapons or dented by heavy impacts. Sigma was worse off, but he was the one smiling and chatting. "It reminds me of how you used to be, once upon a time. How… _demonic_ of you."

"I hate you," said Zero heatedly.

"You wound me," said Sigma, never dropping his sneer. "We Mavericks should get along better."

"I'm no Maverick!" Zero spat. "I am the one who kills Mavericks!"

"Even when the Maverick is Iris," said Sigma viciously.

Zero stopped cold.

"That biggest wound on your chest… I didn't do that," Sigma said, savoring it. "Killing her cost you in more ways than one."

"Don't you dare talk to me about her!" Zero shouted.

"Look at you fooling yourself," Sigma went on, heedless of the threat. "She died because you denied your true nature. She went Maverick, and you pretended you weren't. Your denial killed her. The truth is that you _are_ a Maverick, no matter what you tell yourself."

"I'll shut your mouth for you," said Zero, but he didn't move.

His words made no effect on Sigma. "Not just any Maverick," he said, growing more excited. "You're the _first_ Maverick. Don't you remember?"

Zero's eyes narrowed. "You mean when I almost killed you? That wasn't the first time—there were Mavericks before then."

"Not then. Poor, poor Zero—you still don't remember, do you? I'd heard your memory was getting better, but you still can't recall it all."

"I don't care," said Zero, shaking his head as if to make it true.

"You should."

Zero refocused. "What do you mean?"

Sigma rested the butt of his scythe on the floor. "You know you're no reploid," he said. "You know you're no Lightbot. Weren't you ever curious about what you _are_?"

"No."

"Liar." Sigma smiled. "You didn't want to kill Iris. You didn't want to kill Colonel. You didn't want to kill anyone in Repliforce. None of it made sense, did it?"

"What does that have to do with who built me?" said Zero.

"Everything!" Sigma exclaimed. "You weren't built to be a Hunter. Being a Hunter feels wrong. It's against your real self. You were built to be a Maverick, the first Maverick. That is your true nature."

"You know nothing of my true nature," Zero growled.

Sigma laughed. "No, _you_ don't. That's the tragedy of this war. If you did know, you wouldn't be torturing yourself like this."

Sigma pointed. "You were built to be Maverick before there _were_ Mavericks. You weren't built to be the one to kill Mavericks, but you were built to kill. You had one target. Every time you kill someone who isn't that target, you get less satisfied and more frustrated."

It was too close to home. Zero wanted to deny it, just because it was Sigma saying it. He couldn't know, not when Zero didn't know himself. But the words resonated. They reverberated in the void where conviction had been.

"Would you like to know who it is?"

"Huh?" said Zero, jerking.

"Who your target is," Sigma said, grin sinking deeply into his features. "Would you like to know who you were supposed to kill, who your circuits desperately want you to kill? I'll give you a hint: you already know who it is."

Zero shook his head. Stop it, stop it, stop it—memories—fear—fear of what he might remember—no, stop it—

He found refuge in his wrath. "I don't care!" he shouted, and leveled his saber at Sigma. "I hate you. Whoever I was built to kill, I _choose_ to kill you!"

Sigma snorted, unimpressed. "Borrowing X's useless words, are we? Very well. You may try, if you wish. It changes nothing. Even if you break this body, it won't make you feel any better. You can't rest until you face your true enemy with intent to kill. Your "choice" is meaningless."

Sigma brought his scythe to the ready. "You'll realize your destiny sooner or later," Sigma promised. "You were built as a Maverick. You can only deny yourself for so long. You will rejoin Iris soon enough. Either in Maverickism… or in death!"

He lunged, and even though Zero was watching him, the Hunter was still caught flat-footed, unready—too much of his attention diverted by the conversation. He tried to recover, tried to position himself as Sigma loomed—

-and then Sigma's eyes bulged in pain and surprise. Light erupted behind him as plasma burst upon his back. It threw him forward, disrupting his lunge, throwing off his timing.

Zero was able to recover and react to that, in time. He met Sigma in the air with a lunge of his own. He unerringly targeted one of Sigma's previous wounds. His saber struck home.

Their bodies tangled. Zero twisted and slammed Sigma to the floor. He came down on top of Sigma; his weight and strength pushed his saber all the way through Sigma's body and through the floor beneath.

Sigma just laughed. "A hollow victory," he whispered. "You and I are destined to be on the same side!"

Zero growled and tore his saber from Sigma's body. He stabbed down again with a roar, annihilating Sigma's core. Then another thrust, down through Sigma's head, and another, leaving nothing of the hated face but molten ruin. Finally, the smirk was gone.

But he'd noticed, before his fatal stroke, that those eyes had rolled back. And he knew that Sigma had spoken true about at least one thing: Sigma had escaped death again, somehow. Zero was not satisfied.

Movement drew his eyes. He looked up, saber poised, ready to strike—oh. X. Reluctantly he deselected X as a target. It took effort. Tactical didn't want to do it.

"I'm glad I got back in time," X said. He was still holding his right arm steady with his left. Zero knew, in hindsight, that X had been the one to hammer Sigma's back. It was his intervention that had ended the fight. Nothing could stand against X and Zero together; everyone knew that. Sigma, especially, knew that.

Sigma… knew…

"Are you alright?"

Zero's eyes re-focused on X. "Huh?"

"Are you… okay?"

Zero didn't even know how to begin to respond. His hands moved limply.

X's face screwed up. "I guess it is kind of a stupid question." Zero watched X's eyes move to Zero's beam saber. "I suppose we should put away our weapons, huh?"

Zero didn't move. He didn't know what to do. Everything was a jangle. Everything seemed like it was a different shape than it should be. He looked down to Sigma's corpse again. He wanted it to move so he could stab it again. He hadn't stabbed it nearly enough, he felt, but he also knew it was pointless.

He didn't want to put his saber away. He needed to kill _more_.

X reverted his buster to hand. "The fighting's over, isn't it?" he asked.

"It's never over," Zero replied, and wondered why he'd said it.

That made X frown. "What did Sigma say to you?"

"Nothing," Zero said, and he felt his face twisting with his anger; intent to kill flooded his mind. "He… dared…"

"I'm sorry," said X. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Zero raised the saber, as if to keep X away, but X knew better; he hadn't moved. He met Zero's harsh eyes with soft ones of his own. The mismatch made Zero hesitate. What was he doing? X wasn't attacking. He was a friend. He was part of Zero's 'I'.

He was—

Memory.

Fear. No. Stop it!

Zero needed to stab Sigma again, it was the only thing that could keep…

"Where's General?"

 _Threat. Concentrate on the threat._ Zero forced himself to focus on tactical, to think about what General might have done. It was hard; General's damaged state had caused tactical to rate him a near non-entity. Zero was tenacious, though, and compelled himself to pay attention.

"He started crawling during my fight with Sigma," he said, recalling the data. "But he was leaving, so I didn't pay it much mind. This way…"

He left the room through the open door that was barely large enough for General under ideal circumstances. There were scrapes on the floor—evidence of General dragging his ruined body along.

It didn't take long to catch him. It was a small station. They found him at the airlock. He already had the inner doors open and had moved into the center gap.

"General, what are you doing?" X exclaimed.

General came to a stop. His body shook. He was at the limit of his physical capacity. "Rejoining Repliforce," he said.

"Repliforce is dead," said Zero.

General nodded. "Exactly."

Zero looked at what General was trying to do. "Oh."

X shook his head. "But that's so pointless," he said.

"What would you have me do?" said General. "Let you kill me? You could at any time, but there's no more point to that. I still end up dead. Return to Earth? What for? Some kind of show trial? I'm a Maverick and a leader of Mavericks. Only one fate exists for me."

He leveraged himself up onto the ruined stumps of his legs. "Did you hear my speech declaring war?"

"I did," said X.

"I was willing… Repliforce was willing… to sacrifice all for our independence. We wanted to preserve our dignity. Our honor. But now I know… even that was chosen for me. It was engineered. I didn't even make that choice on my own. Independence was a fantasy."

He raised his head, looking at the ceiling, unable to meet the Hunters' eyes. "And because of that, all of my soldiers died. They died believing in me… a fraud, and a failure. A puppet. I couldn't do what I was supposed to do, and I couldn't do what I wanted to do, either."

Those last few words rung within Zero. He felt empty, and the words reverberated about. Didn't they describe Zero, too? (He'd killed Iris!) Hadn't Colonel believed in him? (He'd disappointed Colonel, then killed him!) He didn't know what he was supposed to do, and nothing that he wanted to do worked out, not in a world where Sigma was alive and Iris was dead…

He felt a glimmer of sympathy.

New, startling, alarming... and demanding. It tugged on him in a way he'd never felt. He gave in to it.

"I could end your suffering," he offered.

"Thank you," General said, "but no. I want to do this myself. I want to have one choice in my life be truly mine. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but please, Maverick Hunters… let me die on my own terms."

X was twisting himself in knots—Zero could see it. He recognized it. If he didn't know what to do, Zero certainly didn't…

And the epiphany broke upon him like the sun breaking through thick clouds.

 _I don't have to be the One That Kills Mavericks._

Oh, if only he'd known that sooner! Too late for Iris or Colonel, but for General's sake…

He reached out and put an arm across X's chest, restraining him. "Go, General," said Zero.

"What?" said X, startled. "What are you doing? Zero! General!"

General gave a brief salute, then twisted one of the airlock's control handles. There was a clang as the airlock's inner doors snapped shut. "Goodbye," Zero said.

* * *

It took enormous effort for General to turn the handle for the airlock's cycling controls. He had so little strength left. It was just enough; the handle clanged into position. General locked it back down and pressed the button—trivial in comparison—that initialized the cycle procedure.

There was a rush of air up and out—back into the station. The air was being pumped out to be conserved; releasing it to space was wasteful, unaffordable. General could feel the effects. Hydraulic fluid bled out through his open wounds, then was sucked out, and finally there was nothing left. His limbs were all but frozen in place; he toppled over against the outer doors while he still could. And still the air was drawn away, until there was only the slightest bit left, a tiny fraction of atmosphere.

The outer doors opened. The impulse of escaping air pulled General out into vacuum.

He was out amongst the stars.

There were so many. Space was so full.

But it was also so empty.

Paradox. How could space be so full when it was so empty?

And quiet. And so very, very cold.

One spark of warmth surged through him. There should have been enough room in space for Repliforce! The universe was vast. They should have been able to find a safe spot here among the stars.

But they were all dead.

All of Repliforce was dead—doomed by General's incompetence and the armature of the world. They were doomed before they were ever activated. They were built to die. Their fate…

Colonel had been right all along. Robotics was the science of engineering fate; death was part of the design.

General closed his eyes. _Even if that's true…_ _we didn't deserve this._

The final bit of warmth faded. The stars were cold.

* * *

 _Next time: Unresolved_


	18. Unresolved

When the airlock had finished cycling, Zero fell to his knees.

"Are you alright?" X asked. "Let me check your damage…"

"The damage is fine," Zero said, putting a hand to his chest. Already the furrows and cracks and scars were filling in. "I'm still near one hundred percent capacity."

Weariness swept over X. "I'm glad," he said, "but that's not… I mean, I feel like…"

"What?" said Zero, whipping his head around.

X closed his eyes. He felt like he could barely retain his balance. "We've both been through a lot. I'm… here for you."

Zero looked forward. "Thank you," he mumbled.

A small spark of happiness came up in X. It didn't last long. "We still have work to do here."

"Everyone's dead," said Zero, voice strangely neutral.

"Yes, but that's not the end of it. I…"

X looked at Zero. The sharpness was gone. The focus was gone. Zero seemed… hollow. Spent. Every part of X was fried from exertion and emotional wash, but he could recognize this. He knew it intimately, as an old friend.

Regret.

So strange, to see it on Zero. Even when discussing his own death, Zero had been more embarrassed than regretful. Regret didn't belong there. X realized he'd been counting on Zero's steadiness, perhaps too much… and now matters were worse. Reversed. Zero couldn't help X, not when he was feeling like this. He needed X's help.

X hoped he had enough within him left to offer. He had little hope for the rest. He didn't know how to give Zero what he needed.

He was so tired…

He shook his head. "I have things to do," he said, "but they can wait. You're more important."

Zero stared, eyes unfocused. "I told Iris she was important. I told her that her life mattered."

X nodded, despairing. "I know how hard it is for you to care about others."

"But… I didn't care, did I?"

"You're still caring now," X pointed out.

Zero's hair whipped back and forth as he denied it. "How can I say I cared when I killed her?"

"She wasn't the same person," X said. "She'd changed—"

"You can't say that," said Zero venomously. He looked to X with fire in his eyes. "I'm the one who knew her best, not you. _I_ say she was my Iris when I killed her!"

X flinched. He could barely look at Zero. "That scar across your chest," he said. "That's not from Sigma. That's a Z-saber wound."

"Because I betrayed her first," Zero said, sinking down again.

"Iris killed one of our medics back in Hunter Base."

"You keep bringing that up," said Zero irritably.

"Because it matters. The Iris you knew—the Iris you loved—she wouldn't have done that. When Colonel died, she shattered. The thing you fought… whatever it was, it wasn't Iris."

"Why do you hate her so much?"

"I don't, Zero," X insisted. "Really I don't. I just want you to realize… you weren't wrong."

It took Zero a moment to soak that in; then he turned his head with a huff. "I knew you'd say that," he huffed.

The clock was still ticking. X had to get this news out, before something drastic happened…

"We can talk more," X said, "but I will always listen to you. And I believe in you. Always."

Zero was returning to his hollow self. "I don't know what you mean by that."

X's chronometer was ringing. _Now. You need to go now._

"I wish I could take up more of your pain," X said.

"I can give you some," Zero replied, clenching his teeth and screwing shut his eyes.

X was taken aback. "I didn't mean like…" he paused, gathered himself. "If that's what you need, do it. I can take it."

"It wouldn't work. I don't want to… tempt myself."

At another time X might have plumbed that statement for its deeper meanings. At that time, he couldn't bring himself to do it. "I hope you feel better," he said lamely, inadequately.

"You have things to do, don't you?" accused Zero.

X winced. "Yes," he said.

"I'll be fine. Go."

X closed his eyes. "You're not fine," he protested weakly. "You're using your anger to—"

"I said go!"

X felt the pain in Zero's voice. He felt the loss and confusion. He'd felt them in others before. He'd never been able to console people well—not as much as he felt they needed. With Zero, who'd never felt these things before, and whose pain and loss and confusion were so much deeper…

Tick, tick, tick.

"I'll be back," X promised for the second time. He hoped Zero, the Zero he knew, would still be there when he returned.

* * *

Blat blat, boom.

"Hey, Altern!"

"Yeah?"

Boom.

"Didja hear?"

"What?"

Sizzle, blat.

"They just announced the end of major combat operations."

"Fancy that!"

Blat sizzle boom.

"Hey, Altern!"

"Yeah?"

Blat blat, boom, blat.

"Are you deader if you die in major combat operations, or in mop-up duties?"

"I hate you _so much_."

Blat blat.

* * *

X watched the engineering readouts for the mass driver. Like any other piece of machinery, it had standard bands it was supposed to operate within. So many volts, so much gauss, so many RPMs, and so on.

He'd made it so that absolutely none of those parameters were in band.

The safeties had stopped him at first, but there are always bypasses around safeties. Magma Dragoon had known that truth. X certainly did.

Such a fragile thing Final Weapon was, to command such attention. Each of its shots could pulverize a building, yet its only defense was being very far away from anything that might hurt it. Someone who was close to it could ruin it with something as trifling as, say, the press of a button.

X pressed several buttons. The numbers rose a little further. He watched a bit until they stabilized, then pushed them one more time.

Abruptly the numbers swung wildly. The overhead lights flickered. Most of the numbers fell to zero, while others hit their high pegs. The camera feed at the station, set up to monitor Final Weapon's physical condition, showed small bits of something-or-other detaching from the mass driver. There seemed to be a lot _less_ mass driver than there had been.

X nodded in satisfaction. He took a step backwards, raised an arm, and fired into the control consoles.

"Destroyed as a result of combat operations," he said, as if making a report.

If anyone asked directly, he would of course say that it was his shots that destroyed the consoles. He couldn't lie. Without the consoles, though, piecing together exactly what had happened to the mass driver would be a tricky affair. Even X didn't know the exact chain of events—what pieces or parts had failed—and that would allow him to be truthful on that front, too.

"They should never have built this," X said to himself. "People agreed not to weaponize space a hundred and fifty years ago. We don't need this. Not so long as we have…"

There, he stopped.

History might have turned out very differently if he'd brought himself to complete that sentence. If he'd been able to do something so outrageous as take credit for his own role in the world.

He was tired. He was drained. He was dreading the return trip to Earth with Zero, to say nothing of what he would have to do after. The senselessness of the war was overwhelming. The inability to kill Sigma, or even deny him his goals, was demoralizing. X was wrung out.

Much like Final Weapon, he too had his limits.

Sighing to himself, X checked his to-do list. He'd reported the end of the war, which would make sure no one tried anything stupid; he'd disabled the mass driver; he'd tallied Repliforce casualties to ensure accountability (which had been heartbreaking by itself). He wracked his buzzing circuits, trying to think of anything else that needed doing. He came up with nothing. All that was left was...

He wanted to put it off, but he couldn't. He headed back towards the shuttle.

* * *

Zero took care to have his spacesuit back on, helmet down, before X returned to him.

X stopped when he saw Zero. Zero could see him trying to talk—trying to think of the right thing to say. He knew X was trying to think of 'the right words'.

There were no right words. Zero was certain X was searching in vain.

"Ready to go, then?" X said, and even Zero knew a cop-out when he heard one. Zero's prediction had been right, but this didn't make him happy.

"Ready," Zero replied. On one level it was true. He was dressed to go at any time. Part of him, though, would never leave this station. In a sense, he'd be here forever.

He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about it more than he'd ever wanted to not-talk about something before.

X seemed to sense this, and it sapped him of whatever presence he'd had. Before Zero's eyes, he diminished. It made Zero wonder. Had X always been so little, so frail? In Zero's mind, he was a giant, but here, now, he was just a small, lost, wounded robot. "I'll get dressed, then," said X lamely. "Are you sure…"

"No," Zero said firmly.

X grimaced. "I was going to say, "Are you sure you're alright"."

"In that case, yes. I'm sure."

It was a lie. Zero knew it. He was sure X knew it, even with Zero concealing his face with the helmet and filtering his voice through the suit to give X's empathy nothing to read. No, Zero wasn't fine. It wasn't as if there was anything X could do about it, though.

It was partly X's fault, after all. Maybe… maybe more than partly.

"I'm going out," said Zero, heading for the airlock.

"I'll be right behind you," X said, but Zero barely heard it. There were too many other voices echoing in his head. Living in the moment had long been one of Zero's strengths. He was incapable of it now.

It wasn't until he was safely alone in vacuum, completely out of X's sight, that Zero doubled over in pain.

"I couldn't save any of them!"

His hands wrapped completely around himself, as if a form of self-restraint, like he had to be his own straightjacket.

"Are we…" he said to himself. "Are we all just Mavericks waiting to happen? Have we all been Mavericks all along? Then… who am I supposed to kill?"

He wanted to say it again, but he couldn't manage it. And if he couldn't even ask the question, he had no hope of knowing the answer.

* * *

"Why did we go to space?"

X's head whipped to the side. Zero's faceplate was still down; there was no way to read his expression. His voice, though...

"What did we expect to happen?" Zero went on. "Was there any good thing that could happen?"

You thought there was, X wanted to respond at first impulse. He rejected it. It was a pointless, petty thing to say, no matter how accurate. "I went to space to stop Final Weapon," X said. "That's not a good thing, exactly, but it would have stopped a bad thing."

Zero made a derisive noise. "Hunters doing our duty. Is that all we are? Is that all we can do? No matter the cost? No matter what we want?"

X couldn't speak. He wanted to protest that he'd handled Final Weapon his own way. The words never got out of his vocal processors.

"I couldn't save them!" Zero exclaimed. "I couldn't save any of them! Any of the people I cared about! They're all dead!"

The pain was sharp in X's chest. "I know how you feel, Zero- that's how I feel all the time. I know your pain. I hope I can help you feel better." They were good words. Maybe even the right words. But as X started to say them, the shuttle hit the outer edges of the atmosphere. In moments the noise had built up to a cataclysmic roar.

The rest of the trip back was silent, but not restful. There is no restful atmospheric reentry. But the deafening racket outside the shuttle was nothing compared to the deafening silence within it.

* * *

The phone rang.

It had been still for so long, and there was so little competing noise in the room, that the ringing filled every nook and cranny. It qualified, by itself, as a commotion. Nothing alive in the room could have missed it.

There wasn't anything alive in the room.

The fan, it turned out, was plenty sturdy enough.

* * *

The androids returned to what both felt was a thoroughly undeserved hero's welcome.

It was an abbreviated one, though, much more so than the one that had followed the Third War. X had called ahead and asked Alia and Grant to keep things low-key. They had little trouble complying. The residents of Abel City were, on the whole, slow in emerging from their bunkers. The on-going mop-up operations justified this reluctance.

There was still time for a few of the braver politicians to arrive with their retinues. Outstanding, simply _outstanding_ photo ops resulted. Zero was unusually pliable. That was another way of saying he was completely unresisting. Like a jellyfish, he flowed with the current from one picture to the next.

Both X and Zero received medals, again, some of which X was sure were invented on the spot. They didn't mind.

It was all just noise, anyway. Pictures and noise. Pictures and noise and scraps of metal. Useless things neither would have asked for, that neither could use for anything. It was so far away from anything that mattered.

What mattered…

…couldn't be discussed.

No one else had been there. No one else understood.

X knew he'd have to talk with Zero about it sooner or later. He wasn't sure whether he despised or needed the delays.

Finally it all came to an end, and they were bundled up and sent back to Hunter Base for desperately needed recharges. War, politics by other means, was coming to a close, and politics by more conventional means were going to roar back to the forefront. Combat wasn't all there was to war, after all.

X knew that. He wondered if Zero did.

No, Zero wouldn't care. Zero had other things on his mind. Things…

He was so scatter-brained, X thought with embarrassment. So hard to focus on anything. Look at him! He was practically entering sleep mode just here in the van.

He needed to talk…

…to Zero…

…before…

* * *

One more switch. Dr. Cain flipped it, noted dispassionately as the last lights came on, and turned back to the computers. Their boot was complete. He signed in, and noted they were behaving properly. As expected.

He looked down at his checklist and made two more ticks. "That just about settles that," he said. Next was the phone.

"Facilities Central," was the answer on the first ring.

"Central, labs," Cain said. "Labs have secured from the rig for combat."

"Labs, Central, roger."

As brusque as ever, Cain noted. He didn't know why. The war was basically over, wasn't it? That's why they ordered an end to the rig for combat.

Then again, everyone would be reporting in about now, so they were bound to still be busy. Besides, just because the shooting had stopped, that didn't mean things were really over, did it? He wasn't sure, and from his prison in the labs, he couldn't know.

How had the war gone? Did Repliforce really rebel? Where was Colonel in all of this? And Iris? What had happened to Zero, or X? "I really wish someone would tell me about these things," he grumbled.

He hobbled over to the wall and put the checklist back onto its hanger. When he turned, he got an unwelcome surprise.

One computer's monitor was displaying Colonel's schematics.

Cain had been working on how to integrate Hunter and Repliforce comms tech, the better to support joint ops. _Someone_ had to try and bring those two groups together, when everyone else seemed to want to tear them apart.

But now…

Now…

"Never mind," he snarled, wiping the schematics off the monitor. "I don't want to know."

* * *

The Maverick only began to relax when Sigma's head began to move.

It looked around, clearly reorienting. Its last circumstances had been different. Finally, it spoke. "Ha ha ha, back again."

"Welcome home, master," said the Maverick.

"Home? No," snapped Sigma. "Home is Above. Home is Abel City proper. This is just our in-between. Our purgatory."

"Apologies, master," groveled the Maverick, but inside the tension was leaving him. So Sigma's escape from death hadn't cost him anything. Anything more, at least. Good.

It was impossible to conceive of Maverickism without Sigma.

"Ha ha," said Sigma, looking over his form. "I'd forgotten how limited this body was."

The Maverick was almost embarrassed. Sigma's body? No, it was Sigma's prison. It was only vaguely humanoid, a disgraceful amalgam of ruined and barely-functioning parts.

Sigma would have it no other way. When he couldn't have a top-end body, he would have something like this—something that no one would ever confuse for his real form. Something clearly temporary, unworthy.

His head remained constant. It was the head that had to remain perfect, no matter what, even when he would allow all other parts of himself to be garbage.

The Maverick didn't dare raise his eyes. He didn't trust where they might go. And Sigma's mood… who knew what that could be? Caution was the order of the day.

"Ha ha ha," said Sigma. "Someday they'll realize death has no hold on me. Until then… ha ha… let them think they've won. In reality, this war did everything I could have hoped for, and more."

"And m…" the Maverick started in confusion, unable to control himself. He rallied to kowtow once more. "Forgive me, master."

"What?" said Sigma. "Did you think we were defeated?"

"We lost our spies in the Hunters," the Maverick said, "and another one of your bodies." And what a loss that had been—that body was more than just a body. It was the sum of months of work, a small mountain of stolen components, and a dozen Maverick lives. Some were lost thieving or smuggling materials; others were sacrificed in suicide attacks to distract from the thieving and smuggling. It had been, in short, a monumental expression of Maverick effort.

"Trivial," said Sigma, dismissively. The Maverick's shoulders slumped; Sigma didn't notice. "One body, one spy, and one traitor... that's a minor loss for what we've gained."

"What did we gain? Master," the Maverick added in a panic. "Repliforce was destroyed, we didn't get Final Weapon, and the Hunters are intact. There was little collateral damage, and only a handful of human deaths."

"We wanted Repliforce destroyed," said Sigma. "They were on the Hunters' side, and even when they went Maverick, they weren't ours. They weren't committed. They were still human-lovers. They were not true Mavericks—just rebels. We have no use for their kind. They bled the Hunters a little… that was the best we could have hoped from them. Now they're out of the way, as if they never existed. Perfect.

"And the Hunters… I tell you, the Hunters are doomed," Sigma insisted. "Ha ha… what are the Hunters to you? Hunter Base? Patrols? Squads? Commanders? I've destroyed all of those before, and they've returned. If we did again, they'd just grow back again. They're a distraction. They're just extra layers around the real core. The Hunters, at their very bottom, are X and Zero. Nothing more.

"And those survived this war, yes. That means the Hunters are intact—is that what you think? Ha ha, the Hunters only _look_ intact." Sigma laughed more, as if at some joke only he could hear. "But that's an illusion, an illusion with a finite lifespan. Are you ready for a secret? _I used the weapon on Zero._ "

The Maverick's eyes widened. "You told him the truth of his origins?"

"I led him to the truth," Sigma said with relish. "You can't just tell Zero—the more you try the more he thinks it's about you, and rejects you. No, I showed him what must be. I showed him how to find the truth. And when he comes to the truth, he will be a Hunter no more.

"Ha ha ha… you will see, brother. The Hunters are divided. When they are divided, they will split. When they split, they are doomed."

The Maverick didn't see it. He didn't understand. But he did believe.

"Thy will be done," he said to Sigma.

"As ever," Sigma replied. "Ha ha ha."

* * *

Zero didn't understand.

Being in the armory usually made him feel content. To be surrounded by weapons, weapons he knew and could use… it made tactical buzz with the possibilities and made him feel more secure. Today, though…

He wondered if there was anything that would comfort him.

If this didn't do it… what could?

His peripheral vision seemed blurry and his head felt static-y as he left the armory. Things weren't right. They were wrong. He'd been like this ever since returning… from…

He hated having a functional memory.

A Zeroth squad Hunter was waiting for him outside the armory door. "There you are, sir," said Lux. "We've been looking for you."

Zero blinked. He tried to get his mind to engage. It wouldn't. "Why?" he said dumbly.

"Reports," said Lux, holding up a datapad, "requisitions," another pad, "recommendations," another, "proposed citations," another, "and more reports," a final one.

"Couldn't they be on the same datapad?" Zero said, looking warily at the array in Lux's hands.

"Separate, mutually exclusive systems. Government procurement at its finest. You know how it is."

Zero didn't. "I thought… doesn't Rekir…"

His frown deepened.

"Sir," said Lux, gently, "don't you remember?"

Zero didn't want to remember. Now, though… now his accursed memory was inflicting the opposite pain that it usually did. Now he couldn't forget.

"Rekir is dead," Zero said. "Killed by the traitor, Double."

"That's right," said Lux.

The wrongness intensified. There was a landslide all around Zero; he was tumbling, uncontrolled, through the worst of it. _Rekir was supposed to be there._

"I'll… take these," he said with difficulty. At least they would give him something to hold on to. "And… I'll look at them."

"And pass them on to admin when you're done," Lux said helpfully.

"And pass them on to admin when I'm done," Zero repeated.

"Except for the requisitions, which go to supply."

"Except for the… right," said Zero, fumbling.

Lux gave Zero a pitying look, but fled before Zero could change his mind. Smart Hunter.

Zero looked down at the datapads. He was used to just signing them. But that was because Rekir had always already looked at them. He… supposed he'd have to look at them, too, but… what was he looking for?

He absently made his way back to squad leader territory. He laid out the five datapads on the table in front of him, thumbed on the first, and started reading.

After two grueling minutes, he put that datapad aside and took up the next. Thirty seconds later, he picked up the next.

Ten seconds later he took a step back and glared at the five datapads, each arrogantly lit for him to read. Each one challenging him.

He knew what to do when challenged.

He took all five datapads and arranged them into a scrupulously neat vertical pile. Then he drove his saber through the whole pile in one go.

Leaving the ruined datapads on the table for someone else to clean up, he left squad leaders' country and headed for where he could be alone.

* * *

"Thirty seconds of silence."

The chatter on the Hunter watch floor ceased immediately at Alia's words. Most of the operators mimicked her, and stood quietly at their consoles. Not all of them had the same discipline, though, especially one who was working with an armorer. "Who is it this time?" the armorer whispered.

"Let me look," replied the operator. He scrolled through the Hunter casualty list from the latest war, organized by time of death. (Double was not on the list.) A glance at the time told him where to look. It was later than he'd expected, later than he remembered any Hunters dying…

"Iris," he said in surprise.

"What? Iris?" said the armorer, disbelieving. "Are you sure?"

"That's the name on the list," the operator said.

"But who'd want to mourn _Iris_ …"

"Shhhh!"

The two looked nervously at Alia, but Alia was determinedly staring at the main monitor. Precisely thirty seconds after her first announcement, she spoke again. "Resume."

And went about her business. There was, after all, so very much to do.

But not so much to do that compassion was out of order.

 _Rest in peace,_ she thought.

* * *

 _Next time: Evolution_


	19. Evolution

_Next week will be an epilogue, wherein I'll talk about this story and how it came to be. If you have a question you'd like for me to answer, let me know by review or PM. For now, enjoy the finale of "Shattered"._

* * *

"Well done, both of you!" said the Minister for the Office of Reploid Relations. "You've both done an excellent job, as usual."

"Thank you, sir," said Commander Grant. X did not respond.

"It's too bad about Final Weapon," said the Minister, looking especially at X. "Preliminary reports say the mass driver might be unsalvageable. Looks like we might end up saving the rest of the station and merging it with Eurasia. A real shame, isn't it?"

X blinked. "It couldn't be helped," he said.

"Uh huh," said the Minister, and for a moment his look was keen. X never flinched. The Minister shrugged. "Like I said, it's a shame. But everything else seems to have worked out. With Repliforce, anyway. There are plenty of other cities that are having Maverick troubles all of a sudden. Too bad we don't have a deployable force to help them."

Both of the Hunters recognized what the 'deployable force' was supposed to be. Neither of them rose to answer.

"I guess it's not that funny," the Minister played off, "but that is something to think about. When will the Hunters be ready to begin their assistance missions again?"

"It'll be a while," said Grant. "We've taken heavy casualties and lost lots of equipment. Just covering our basic responsibilities will be touch-and-go. There are still plenty of Mavericks here in Abel City, and they might see this as an opportunity. If we spread any more of our strength elsewhere, the temptation might become irresistible."

"Yes, yes. We must protect Abel City." The Minister tapped the desk with his fingers. "I'm glad to see you have your priorities in order."

"We serve," said Grant.

"Yes, yes," said the Minister approvingly. "I'll be needing your full report, soon."

"Of course."

"But in the meantime… I think the Hunters acquitted themselves well. More than well, in fact. Your losses notwithstanding, this was a very hard war for you, and we came through it in short order with a minimum of civilian casualties."

"I'm glad you think so."

"Yes, yes… it's hard to find organizations and people that can do hard jobs well. We always have to be careful not to lose people with that expertise."

"We lost a number of them in this war," said X. "Clement, Rekir…"

"Sad, to be sure," said the Minister without much in the way of sadness. "But those who lived… certainly they're the cream of the crop. The most capable, and the most loyal. We have to be sure to retain them, and put them in positions where they can do the most good."

"Oh?" said Grant. His voice betrayed surprise, but something else was joining it.

"Hm... You know, I still haven't found the right person to take Mr. Green's place as Under-minister for Enforcement. And I need that post filled urgently, seeing as Ms. Gerry won't be working with us any more, and we need to do a reshuffling of GARRD and a few other offices."

"I'll look through my contacts lists for good referrals," promised Grant.

"Actually… I was hoping you'd consider taking the job," said the Minister. "And that would bump X here up to Commander of the Hunters, so that relationship would remain intact."

"I'm honored by the offer," said Grant. "I hadn't considered it before."

"Well, I hope you'll consider it now. We need men like you, Grant. And reploids like you, X."

"I'll talk with my wife, of course," said Grant. "She's my real boss, after all. And… what's that?"

X hadn't spoken, but he had, for the first time since entering the room, begun to move. He reached under the table and lifted a small case.

Without saying a word, he placed the case on the table, laid it flat, and opened it. He withdrew, one by one, four small, rectangular, plastic objects. He placed them in a neat row on the table between him and Grant.

He looked at Grant expectantly.

The color was steadily draining out of Grant's face.

The Minister had been a politician long enough to know instinctively when negotiations were happening—even negotiations with no words at all. What perturbed him was that the negotiation was going on without him in it, and with him ignorant of the terms. "What's going on?" he asked. "Grant, what are those?"

(If he'd been closer to the actual mechanics of robotics, he would have recognized the memory chips immediately. An even keener observer, one who knew X's missions during the Fourth War, might have identified them as Magma Dragoon's memory chips. Grant certainly did.)

Grant's eyes were flickering back and forth between the plastic and X's implacable face. Whatever negotiating position the robot had taken, it was a strong one; his expression was frozen in unyielding patience. Grant's face had gone past pale to bloodless.

"One of you is going to tell me what's going on," the Minister said.

The Minister might as well have been on another planet for all the mind the Hunters paid him. X never looked away, never changed expression, never spoke, never so much as blinked. The Minister knew that most robots with eyes were programmed to blink in social settings with humans; humans expected it, and were disturbed when robots didn't. X not doing it must be part of the negotiation, then. But what was being negotiated?

For his part, Grant had stopped losing color in his face and started getting some. Unfortunately, the new color wasn't the usual healthy pink of flowing blood, but an increasing grayness. It was as if he was aging rapidly every second the standoff went on, or like he'd suddenly become so tense he'd squeezed all the blood from his face.

Whatever those bits of plastic were, they were enormously significant.

"You're a twisted little robot," Grant said venomously. "You did brain surgery during a war, just to… to…"

"To what?" prompted the Minister.

Grant gave the Minister a skittish look, but then he looked back to X again.

"That's it," said the Minister. "Robot, per the Second Law, I order you to tell me what you're doing."

"Waiting," said X.

Damn smart-ass robots. "Waiting for what?"

"For two minutes thirty-seven seconds thus far."

"No, no, what I mean is…" Think. Think. He's trying to be evasive, ask as tight a question as you can. "What are you expecting Grant to say?"

"Something that acknowledges the significance of what's before us."

"And what is the significance?"

"The significance is known to Grant."

"Make the significance known to me!"

For the first time, X released Grant. When his gaze fell upon the Minister, the Minister found himself wanting to squirm. _So this is negotiating with X,_ thought the Minister.

"As Commander Grant has told me before, everything is a weapon. So, I suppose that's what these are. A weapon."

"What kind of weapon?"

"Sir, with all the respect I can muster, I say to you: _it is better if you never know._ "

The Minister felt like his mouth might never be wet again. "And what if I want to be the judge of that?" he asked.

Slowly, X looked back at Grant. "Well, sir? Should I tell him?"

Grant broke. "I resign," he said.

The Minister blinked, caught with mental whiplash. "Wait, what?"

"I resign from government service," said Grant. "I will not be taking the under-minister position, and I'm stepping down as Commander of the Hunters."

"Okay, wait," said the Minister. "Everyone take a breath—metaphorically—and explain to me what's going on."

"I'm ready to resign is what's going on," said Grant, nodding to himself. "Yes. Yes, it's time. I mean, I don't _have_ to work. I have two retirement checks rolling in. I've served honorably. Now's as good a time as ever, really. Yes. I… I resign."

"I heard that part," said the Minister, "but until someone tells me what just happened, no one's going anywhere."

"It's… it's simple really," said Grant. "I'm handing in my resignation, effective… oh." X had reached into the case once more, and this time he brought forth a piece of paper with very neat script. Grant took it, looked over it cursorily. "Yes, that all appears in order… effective…" He patted his pockets. X had already gone into the case a third time. He offered Grant a pen. "…oh… yes, thank you X… very courteous of you… My resignation is effective im-me-di-ate-ly." The pen flowed, scratching out Grant's signature. He looked it over one more time, nodded, and passed it to the Minister.

"I'm throwing this right into the shredder unless someone explains to me what's going on," said the Minister without touching it.

"The stress is really starting to get to me," said Grant. "That war just took all my energy away. I need to get out of the city. It's bass season, didn't you know?"

"You were one conversation with your wife away from a promotion to Under-minister and now you're talking about _fishing_? Screw this—X, explain to me what's going on."

"Grant resigned," said X impassively. He gave no indication he would speak again.

The Minister lost his temper. "Okay, that's it. Both of you, out. Get out of my office. Grant, I'm not accepting this, we're talking about this later."

"There's nothing more to say," said Grant as he stood. "Thank you for your consideration, Minister. Good luck with the reploids."

When he did exactly what the Minister had told him to do, the Minister found himself unexpectedly furious. Furious-er, anyway. "And you," the Minister said to X, who had packed the plastic away but hadn't yet made good his escape, "you've never tried to dictate human power structures before. You always said it was 'not your place'. What is it with you?"

X blinked calmly. "I obey the Three Laws," he said, and whether this was explanation or excuse the Minister couldn't tell.

"Fine," said the Minister. "If that's how it's going to be, leave that case here."

X looked down at it, as if surprised it was still in his hand, then looked at the Minister anew. "The trouble with weapons, sir, is that they cut every which way. I'm telling you again: it is better if you never know what this is. If you know—if this is made public—then we will have lost the Fourth War, not won it."

He frowned at himself. "Won it? Well... that's overstating things. This wasn't victory. What happened must never happen again. If we're to break this history repeating... we have to start somewhere. _I_ have to start somewhere." He huffed unhappily. "How novel."

The Minister put his face in his hand. "And 'starting somewhere' means forcing Grant into retirement? Why? Do you want to be Commander?"

"No. For the seventeenth time, I decline promotion. However, I would be willing to submit recommendations for the position."

"Do that," said the Minister.

"Yes, sir."

It was only after the door had shut that the Minister realized X had interpreted "do that" as an order overriding "leave that case here".

Negotiations were closed.

* * *

Riff. Tap-tap. Riff.

"Are you going to deal? Or just keep shuffling?"

Altern started at the words, then pursed his lips. "Poker's not as much fun with just two," he said. He started dealing anyway. He dealt two hands. He didn't so much as look at the third, empty chair.

"He's not the only one missing," Signas said.

Altern winced. "I know, but…"

To avoid finishing the sentence, he picked up his cards and looked. And stopped. For the first time, he was having trouble deciding which cards to toss and replace. It wasn't because he didn't know the probabilities—he did. It was because he was suddenly having issues with the idea of replaceability.

"I was supposed to be dead, too," Signas added, "if certain plans had come to fruition."

"'Certain plans'?" echoed Altern, puzzled.

"Make squad leader and I'll read you in."

"Maybe I don't want to make squad leader."

Altern hadn't looked at Rekir's chair, but both Hunters knew the spirit of his words. "And did that save him?" Signas asked pointedly.

Altern's face fell. "No."

"So. Make squad leader, and I'll read you in to why I wasn't supposed to survive."

Altern half-smiled. "Counter-offer: If I get promoted, read me in to the Final Weapon battle report. The un-redacted version."

"No."

Altern opened his mouth to speak, and closed it just as quickly. In a single processor cycle, it seemed, Signas had petrified. Instantly Altern knew he would never see the document. "Can you at least tell me why not?"

"No."

There was no arguing with that. "Okay, fine. I'll think about it."

Signas seemed to reanimate, and nodded, satisfied. "We suffered many casualties even with my survival," he said unbidden. "All told, we lost about a third of our field Hunters."

"I wasn't prepared to hear that," said Altern.

"I thought you loved morbid statistics."

"Probabilities aren't the same as certainties. Knowing what might happen is… totally different from knowing what did happen."

"It does sound bad," Signas allowed, "but it's better than the First or Third Wars, especially for our support staff. For once Hunter Base didn't get hit, so our staff had only six killed or wounded. And both of those figures are far better than Repliforce's casualty rates. They were right at a hundred percent for their combatants, and above eighty percent for their support staff. They even had casualties amongst their humans."

"Hm… so Repliforce fragged their human overseers when they went Maverick?"

"I was referring to Ms. Gerry, their leader."

Altern cocked his head. "What, did they frag her?"

"No, she… violated the Third Law."

"She… ah. Got it. But she's not a casualty of the war, then."

"Her death was a direct result of Repliforce's Maverickism," Signas said. "It counts."

"It doesn't count against us, though, does it?" Altern said, suddenly distressed.

"No."

"Oh… that's something, at least."

"Officially, she's tallied as collateral damage, along with two thousand, three hundred, and fifty-two others."

Altern sighed. "That's a lot."

Signas put his cards down on the table. "It's relative, isn't it?" he asked. "I thought you were alive during the First War."

Altern's hackles rose. He tried to control them. "I was. I wasn't a Hunter then."

"But it still means you know how much more death and destruction occurred then. You know from experience and statistics both. This war was a mild one, as wars go."

"That's not the point," said Altern, slamming his cards down on the table, all thoughts of poker forgotten. "We're the Maverick Hunters. We're supposed to be upset about any human casualties. We're supposed to care." His hand tightened. "Some of us actually do."

The room went quiet. There was no noise from outside, either—Rekir had picked a low traffic area for his games, and with one Hunter in three KIA, there was even less traffic than usual.

Signas tapped his finger on the table. Once. Twice. Thrice. Still. "Did you change weapons when you were promoted?"

Altern blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"A heavy magrifle is classified as a sniper weapon," Signas said. "For sniper weapons to perform at their best, you have to intensely focus on just one target. You block out the rest of the world. That's why snipers rarely get promoted. They can't see past their scopes. They never learn how."

"Except you," Altern said.

"Have you noticed that most squad leaders, even most Azzles, have short-range weapons? Even the ones that start as long-ranged specialists. They usually get their weapons changed out when they get their post-promotion retrofit. I didn't. They realized I could focus on one target, like a sniper needs to, and still keep my eyes and ears on the larger situation. I could do both at the same time.

"And not just in combat, either." His eyes almost imperceptibly tightened. "So, if I talk about the larger implications of humans dying, that doesn't mean I'm numb to their deaths. It doesn't mean I don't care."

Altern's eyes widened in incredulity. "Signas… are you trying to say I _hurt your feelings_?"

Signas slipped into the more-than-formal stiffness that was his version of embarrassment. "Maybe."

Altern smiled. "You know, most people can say that in fewer than a hundred-something words."

"One-hundred and fifty-seven."

That earned a laugh. "We do math on the things we care about, don't we?"

"I suppose," Signas said, and he relaxed slightly.

"I'm still stuck," Altern said. "I'm still in the grieving stage. But you're not. That's why you outrank me now, isn't it?"

"Something like that," Signas replied vaguely.

Altern sighed and steeled himself. "Well? What _are_ the larger implications of humans dying?"

"You're sure you want to know?"

Altern sim-swallowed, imitating a human gesture with muscles that weren't there. "I joined the Hunters because I was done with running. Sock it to me."

Signas nodded respectfully. "There are two reasons for the lower casualty count in this war. First, people have gotten very good at bunkering down. They protected themselves very well."

"At this point, that's expected," said Altern. "This is the only city on Earth that has a "Maverick attack" section in its building code."

"That's the less important factor, though," Signas went on. "The bigger one is this: killing humans just wasn't a priority for Repliforce."

Altern leaned back in his chair. "Huh. I hadn't thought about that, but… now that you mention it, it's kind of obvious."

"Most of the human deaths we did get came when Sky Lagoon crashed. The war inflicted lots of property damage, but it didn't kill that many, because Repliforce just didn't bother. They didn't target human population clusters, and there were none of the revenge squads we always see with Sigma's Mavericks. Repliforce had different goals."

Altern nodded with a frown. "Well, okay, but… where's the 'so what'?"

"The 'so what' is in Alexandria."

Altern had to think about that. "What, you mean the one city Repliforce deployed to?"

"That's right. They're experiencing lots of unrest. Protests. Expressions of sympathy. Spontaneous Maverickism, even. And it's spreading to the humans, who are doing their own counter-protests and counter-violence."

"They just had a major Maverick incident, though," protested Altern. "The Mavericks rose up in Alexandria and got cut down. That usually buys you at least a month before anything big can happen again."

"Not this time. Not in Alexandria, or in Nineveh, Shiloh, or Megiddo. They're all at different points in their Maverick cycles, but they're all experiencing the same kind of problems."

Altern nodded, comprehending. "You're saying this is a different kind of Maverickism. Repliforce spawned something… new."

"That's right. Put it this way: why do Sigma's Mavericks kill humans?"

Altern winced, but powered through despite his pain. "It's what they do. It's their ideology: kill the humans to save the reploids."

"Yes and no," said Signas, holding up his hands. One was down low, one was up high. "What are a few thousand deaths—even tens of thousands of deaths—out of a population of billions? Even the worst of Sigma's wars don't dent the population of the world."

"You said killing humans was a priority for Mavericks," said Altern accusingly.

"It is, but not because they're going to kill them all in one go. It's a form of political speech. They're telling humans, "We can kill you and your government can't stop us"."

"But we do stop them," objected Altern. "We kill them."

"We can only kill them after they've acted, which means the message is delivered. But that's not the only message. It's also a message to reploids—"This is what you can do", or, "This is what you should be doing". And it's a message to everyone: "This is how angry we are. This is what happens when we're mistreated"."

"Murder as marketing," Altern said queasily.

"As political theater," Signas corrected. "It has its downsides, though. The biggest is that it turns off any reploid that wants more rights, but isn't keen on genocide."

Altern's eyes widened in realization. "Like Repliforce."

Signas nodded. "And now we've martyred an organization that _didn't_ want genocide, that _only_ wanted independence. Almost any reploids can sympathize with that."

"And are, apparently."

"Apparently," Signas agreed.

"We're going to be busy," said Altern morosely. "Sigma's Mavericks are dangerous because they're organized and fanatical. These spontaneous Mavericks are neither, but if there are ten times as many of them…"

"Very, very, busy," agreed Signas. "And don't forget: Repliforce was a widely-advertised government project. They trumpeted it as a success and a major step against Maverickism before they did anything. Then the whole Repliforce went Maverick all at once."

Altern grimaced. "What was the Maverick message? "Your government can't stop us"?"

"Exactly. Which is why we see humans in Alexandria taking matters into their own hands. Imagine the backlash if the true nature of Final Weapon got out. If people understood just what kind of weapon Mavericks had gotten a hold of..."

"I don't think I want to." Altern shook his head, and looked at Signas with new admiration. "You sure have thought a lot about this."

"Actually, I didn't."

"Huh?"

"X did most of it. I just supplied some data to confirm it—he's been a bit too busy to do all his own research lately."

"I can imagine."

"The thing is…" Signas paused, considered his words. "…this was as far as he got. He didn't take the next step."

"Which is?"

"What to do about it. Which, come to think about it… if he doesn't know that, nobody does."

The room grew quiet.

Poker suddenly had tremendous appeal, especially if it meant changing the subject. Altern looked at his cards again, as if for the first time. They let him down just as quickly. What a wretched collection of mismatched scrap… Sighing, he tossed them into the middle of the table. "Fold."

Signas graciously accepted the cards and the ante, but he hadn't finished gathering them before there was a beep from his waist. "Looks like I'm needed," he said regretfully. "Take care of the cleanup, please. I trust you to keep it all straight."

Altern smiled. "You'd know if I didn't."

Signas returned the smile and rose to leave.

"What was your hand?" Altern asked.

"Pair of jacks, king high."

"Huh," huffed Altern. "Go figure."

"Beg your pardon?"

Altern gestured to Signas' head. "Your new armor mod looks good. It suits you."

Signas self-consciously touched it. His latest modifications had altered his headpiece so that it resembled an officer's peaked cap. His shoulders had been modified to suggest epaulets, while his chest resembled the buttons of a uniform. Gold shoulder loops completed the look—a bit of ornamentation unique in the Hunters to their current Commander.

"People keep saying that," muttered Signas. "I'm running out of ways to thank the armor shop."

The device at Signas' waist beeped again. "Coming, coming," he said aloud. He closed the door behind him.

The room fell to silence and emptiness—the silence of things that are absent. To Altern's right, a chair emptied by promotion. To his left, a chair emptied by attrition. Such was life in the Hunters.

He sighed, and broke the silence by shuffling the cards. "Well," he said, "looks like it's solitaire today."

* * *

The sun was low in the sky. Oranges and reds stretched across the horizon, between and amongst Abel City's skyscrapers. There was little blue left in the center of the sky; on the one end it faded into greens and on into the orange, and on the other was ever-darkening indigo, and purple, and darker colors still.

On the roof of Hunter Base, there was only one distinct sound. All the sounds of the city, from the traffic to the construction to the hocking of wares, blurred together into the everyday buzz of white noise. Only the thrumming of a Z-saber stood out.

Zero swished and struck, around and around, as he danced through a kata. Horizontal slash into a withdrawal into a plant-and-lunge into a spinning finisher.

Easy. Pure. Right.

Not right.

Maybe just not right enough.

Slowly, Zero did another diagonal slash, an unscripted one. He was more self-aware this time, less focused on the executing the move and more focused on how it played out. If he looked at the slash just right, it was almost like his saber was cutting through one of the skyscrapers.

It was an illusion, he knew. Persistence of vision, the burning brightness of the saber lingering in his sight even after the blade had passed. But it was an… interesting illusion.

He sliced down through one skyscraper—a second—a third. He imagined them falling before him. Memory filled in the details from his experiences with collapsing buildings and felled enemies alike. He could see the skyscrapers falling—it wasn't so very different from what he could actually do…

There were people in them, he realized. If he knocked those buildings down—there was no question that he could, if he chose—then those people would die. X would not approve of that kind of fantasy.

But what did X know? He was just a…

…a…

...just another machine. Like Zero. Maybe…

Maybe they should both accept that. Stop trying to be things they weren't. Stop trying to fight their natures. Zero didn't have to be the One That Kills Mavericks; Colonel's death, Iris' death, and General's sacrifice had taught him that. If he hadn't been the One, Iris would still be alive. Whatever had made him think that killing her was right, well, _that_ couldn't be right.

So, then… what was he supposed to do? If he wasn't that, what was he?

He was the Red Demon after all... at least in part. It was inescapable, built in to his innermost being. But if that was true—if warbot instincts were part of his true self—he needed to ensure that the Red Demon feasted on the right targets. How to do that?

Return to basics. Return to Zero. Understand, first of all, what he was made for, what he was built to do. What his circuits were insisting on. What would feel right.

Whatever that was, it had to be better than this pain.

Pain…

Zero didn't resent pain. Like anger, it had a role in negative reinforcement, a role Zero understood and appreciated. It motivated him to act and remove the source of the pain. If the source of his pain was being a Maverick Hunter, well, that was a solvable problem.

Except that X needed him. Yes. It was important for him to be there for X.

…said who? And X needed him to do what, exactly?

Zero swept his saber across his whole field of view, decapitating every skyscraper in his sight. Destroying this whole city, he believed, would be easier than finding his answers. Unless of course he already _knew_ his answers…

Memory—annoying thing—pulled insistently at the corners of his mind.

Zero wanted to ask X for help, but he knew he couldn't. Not on this subject. Anything else, and X would do everything he could to help him. 'Friendship' was what X had called that behavior. X would want to help, even about this. He'd try. But there was really nothing he could do. Zero had to do this himself.

He was alone.

…which wasn't that bad, really. He didn't mind it that much, he was sure. He didn't need friends, or allies, or love. Maybe he was made to be alone. Who knew?

He went to sheathe his saber, but as the hilt came past his face it caught his eye. He looked at it. It was the replacement saber, the one Iris had given him.

Emotion swept through him. His face twitched. Metal ground on metal as he squeezed the saber tight. He slammed it home in its sheathe and stomped back for the stairs.

Behind him, the sun sank below the horizon. The sky flooded with red.

* * *

 _Fin_


	20. Epilogue

Welcome to the epilogue. Thanks for reading the story. I hope you enjoyed it.

This is my space to talk about the creative process—where I share my thoughts on the story and writing it. As usual, this will be in question-and-answer format, with actual reader questions mixed in for variety, so here we-

 _Hold on a moment. Don't you have a confession to make?_

Beg your pardon?

 _Didn't you say after "Broken Glass" that you didn't think you needed to rewrite X4? That "Broken Glass" and "Consequences" framed it so well that actually rewriting X4 was unnecessary? And that you're not much of a fan of rewriting games anyway?_

Erm… yeah, kinda.

 _So…?_

Whoops?

…

Look, everyone gets into arguments with themselves, and sometimes we convince ourselves to change our minds.

 _Like you're doing now._

Like I'm doing… shut up.

The point is that, yes, strictly speaking I didn't need to do this. But, strictly speaking, I never "need" to write anything. I'm still not crazy about game adaptations in broad terms. When you play a game, so much of the experience and the draw is in gameplay that is, for a story, narratively expendable.

Which is why in large part I wasn't beholden to the gameplay this time around. This isn't a story about Mega Man X4; this is the story of the Fourth Maverick War. Some of the bosses don't even appear on-screen, and X and Zero both have things to do and character arcs to follow, and we're frequently shifting to see what the rest of the Hunters and Repliforce are up to, and even when some of the boss fights are depicted I didn't feel the need to showcase all of their abilities before letting the fight take its course.

Those are just some examples. Other deviances are due to simple logistics: space stations are small; mass is at a premium; warbot mechaniloids just aren't going to be up there, to say nothing of the logistical difficulties Sigma would encounter in smuggling a second, expansive form onto a small space station.

(Also, the power level Final Weapon is implied as having in X4 is outrageous. Why on, er, _Earth_ would any government build such a thing? Or allow it to be built, if you contend Repliforce somehow did it on the down-low?)

Note that I tried to preserve as much of the story of X4 as made sense. I took certain sections of it (e.g. General's independence speech) verbatim; they served the purpose.

Anyway, by adopting the philosophy that I would not be beholden to replicating all of X4's gameplay just for the sake of it, I was able to focus more on things of narrative interest.

 _What, according to you, is "of narrative interest"?_

First and foremost, the relationship between X and Zero, especially as it evolves given Zero's new friendships, the war, and the destruction of those friendships beneath the pressure of history and individual choices. It is fair to say that the X-Zero relationship isn't just the emotional crux of the series; it is, as Sigma well recognizes, the pivot of history. Nothing good happens when those two are separated.

 _So you separate them? You're a jerk._

I'm just following what X5 should have been (which I expressed in "A Heavy Load to Bear"). It's not my fault Capcom chickened out at the last minute and grafted the virus on to everything.

Other narratively interesting things: the ascendency of Signas and Alia from "not even characters" X4 and before to "core Hunter leadership cadre" from X5 on; how the human government was so willing to declare a huge force of anti-Mavericks Maverick; what Colonel and General were thinking when they went Maverick; and having Zero's infamous cutscene feel earned. Deserved. Merited. Warranted. Pick your adjective.

It's pretty amazing that one of the few times Zero shows robust emotion, it's very divisive, with some people being moved by it and others being embarrassed by it. It is an outlier to how Zero acts normally, so the "embarrassed" faction has a point. There's a chicken-and-egg dilemma at work. We're meant to understand that Iris is important to Zero, but the scene itself is the only real occasion that sells that link. The game emphasizes the Colonel-Iris relationship far more than it does the Zero-Iris relationship. It's Colonel who disarms when Iris intervenes during the first Colonel-Zero fight, for example. And, of course, the entire war goes down the memory hole; neither Colonel nor Iris is ever mentioned again. That undercuts the idea of Iris being so important to Zero that he'd go OOC to mourn her.

All of which was what drove me to replace X5 and onwards with "A Heavy Load to Bear"—that's the true follow-up to this story. How do you show Iris is important? By remembering her… especially if it's the brain-damaged character who does the remembering.

 _Is it time for your disclaimer?_

Pretty much. This is the part where I'm obliged to say that even though the _events_ of AHLtB are perfectly consistent with this story, my characterization of Zero has developed considerably since I wrote that story. There's a bit of dissonance in that regard. Nevertheless, that's the true ending of this version of the X story.

Oddly (or perhaps not), my X has deviated much less, and my Dr. Cain almost not at all.

 _Why did you have to go and kill Rekir?_

When I started writing "Credo", I decided to pull in characters (originally conceived as throwaways) that followed Zero at the start of X1 (in "False Dawn"). However, I also had "A Heavy Load to Bear" already written, and those characters were _not_ in it. Plus, Zero's isolation in the Hunters is a key component to that story's plot. To connect the dots, I conceived in my headcanon where the "False Dawn" characters died. It was necessary for internal consistency.

So I decided then how Rekir was going to die/had died. That didn't mean it was easy to write when his time came in this story. The choreography and staging of Rekir's death proved to be really hard to get right. That's because of one of the other implications of Rekir surviving this long: it means Rekir's a really good Hunter despite being physically average.

Writing about Zero being so strong and fast and vicious he can just overwhelm people? That's easy. Writing about X viewing each opponent as a puzzle to be solved with the right weapon? That's fun. Writing about someone who's just really good at basic tasks, and then threading the needle between "good enough to do something meaningful" and "not good enough to survive"? That's harder than you think. I had to work my way through four iterations of the fight before I was happy with it, but it was worth the effort.

 _Did you have fun with names again?_

You know I did. Lux is Latin for "light"; Clement derives from the Latin for "mercy". Those are pretty straightforward references (direct or ironic) to what they do in the story.

Bob Anderson, station commander for Final Weapon, is a bit more obscure. Major Robert Anderson was the commander of Fort Sumter at the start of the Civil War; it was the bombardment of that fort, and Anderson's surrender of it, that kicked off the festivities. Ironically, the deadliest war in American history began with a bloodless battle with no human casualties (just a mule). I liked the contrast of a benign struggle setting up a later, greater tragedy, so Bob's a nod to that (his surrender of Final Weapon brings the Hunters to it and forces the final battles).

Giving a guy with that inspiration a Southern accent was just me being perverse.

 _Why doesn't Iris transform into that, like, mech-bird-thing?_

That question suggests its own answer.

This speaks to my creative process. When I write fanfiction, I'm usually trying to address a particular issue, or character, or plot point. This can be put in the form of a question; the story provides the answer to that question.

As far as Iris goes, in "Broken Glass" the question was, "Why would a notoriously mind-blind Zero get into a relationship with a waif?" (This is a puzzle that Alia is never able to solve, much to her aggravation; in her defense, she has less visibility than we do.) In "Shattered", the questions were, "Why would Iris want to fight Zero?" and "What would make Iris so threatening to Zero that he would feel he had to kill her?" With the approach I took, those questions have related answers. Hopefully it works better than what happened in the game proper.

 _Who's your favorite character to write for?_

Ooh, a tricky question! I have to reverse it to explain my feelings: Are there characters that _aren't_ fun to write for? Being burdened with an unfun character takes some of the joy out of writing; as someone who writes for pleasure, I naturally try to avoid that. That said, if the characters are well-defined and have their own voices and roles, I can find different sorts of pleasure writing for all of them.

Probably the closest to "least favorite" are Colonel and Sigma, as well as the Minister of ORR (you can tell because I didn't grace him with a name). All three are present because the story doesn't work without them. They're obligatory, and I tend to resent obligation. That said, I came to terms with Colonel and appreciated him more by the end. Sigma's sneering arrogance and no-price-is-too-high fanaticism are so different from the other characters it's refreshing. They help obscure the fact that he's basically a standee. "Standard Deviation" is about the longest story Sigma can sustain as a protagonist. And the minister… er… helps the plot. (I got nothing for him.)

Everyone else is fun for different reasons. Dr. Cain's "human honey badger" schtick is a hoot. I empathize strongly with X's despair at the futility of reason. It was gratifying to give Alia a Moment of Awesome she never gets in the games. Rekir is a composite of different people I've known. Zero is a sociopath with a vague sense that he shouldn't be a sociopath; that never gets old. Iris was new and interesting and different and vulnerable and pathetic (in the good way) and so, so doomed. Even Double, who is barely more of a character than Sigma, is fun in a technical way: having him always be around the edges of the scene, implying what he's seeing or doing, sustaining the dramatic irony of his actions for as long as possible… that was entertaining to me.

 _Will you settle on just one convention for chapter titles already?_

Never.

 _Why are so many of the boss fights so one-sided?_

It's necessary to reconcile story and gameplay. Let me explain.

Outside of specialized cases (usually story-driven), bosses in video games are designed to fall in a narrow band of difficulty: they have to be hard enough to be challenging, while being easy enough that most players can get the hang of them and overcome. Attendant to that is the notion that the player will fail a few times as they learn.

Story-wise, X can't fail. Ever. There is no in-game mechanism like Undertale's "determination" that would explain X rebounding from death to fight again, no worse for the wear, with his enemies unaware this is take two (or three, or etc.). X has to win the first time, every time.

But winning the first time every time is, well, pretty ridiculous. It implies an X that is _so_ much stronger/faster/smarter/more skilled than his opponents that he is rarely threatened at all. Only exceptional foes can seriously endanger him—because otherwise simple probability suggests he could not survive this much warfare.

In other words, X's skill level is not like that of the typical player; it's closer to the level of the typical speed-runner (and without the speed-runner's advantages of advanced knowledge and practice). That, in turn, means that most of X's battles are trivial, as they are for the speed-runner. The drama comes from elsewhere, against all but the savviest (Magma Dragoon) or strongest (Sigma) enemies.

Don't forget, either, that Repliforce was green, inexperienced. By contrast, X has been through four wars by this point and is near or at the peak of his powers. Only foes with a substantial fraction of that experience and tech can threaten him. Repliforce doesn't qualify.

Obviously all of these arguments also apply to Zero.

 _You have a thing against X3's weapons selection, huh?_

X3 has many flaws which combine to make it, I'd say, the worst of the side-scrolling X games. (Admittedly that's praising with faint damns.) Those flaws include a too-small enemy selection more resilient than interesting, poorly differentiated levels, and stiff sprites. The biggest flaw, though, is the weapons loadout.

Editorial: X3's weapons are the worst. Good Mega Man weapons either give you more firepower, or let you do things the buster can't. X1 has perhaps the platonic ideal of Mega Man weapons: Flame Wave and Storm Tornado give you firepower; Shotgun Ice, Homing Torpedo, and even Electric Spark provide off-axis attacks of varying flexibility and power; and the remaining weapons (or their charged modes) supply utility, though Boomerang Cutter's was contrived.

X3? Not even close. (Does 'platonic ideal' have an antonym?) Virtually all of the weapons have slow projectiles, shot development times, or both. Ray Splasher is just barely a firepower upgrade at close range; Parasite Bomb is an upgrade against exactly one enemy. The weapons that provide off-axis attacks (Tri-Thunder and Spinning Blade) are unnecessarily difficult and unforgiving to use. Many of the weapons have an exploration focus, but this isn't Metroid. Metroid is exploration first, combat second, while Mega Man is combat first, exploration second; having so much of the weapons' utility tied up in a small number of puzzles just means they rarely get used. Gravity Well and Tunneling Missile are worthy nominees for the title of Worst Mega Man Weapon Ever, between their slow projectile speed, long development times, and inability to hurt any non-trivial enemy. A Tunneling Missile bouncing away from a foe is one of the most disheartening sights in Mega Man. And let's not forget that X3 broke the Mega Man convention where the least-practical weapon is the final boss' weakness; characteristically, the game forces you to use the buster.

One of the draws of Mega Man is the thrill of finding the perfect weapon for the job at hand. In X3, "the perfect weapon for the job" is nearly always the buster. Fail.

Okay, rant over.

 _That means an X3 story is next, right?_

Heck no.

 _Rats. What is next, then?_

Next up is "Imposters", a quickie about a girl whose path crosses X for a moment, much to her embarrassment. After that is "Of All Things Great and Small", a.k.a. "A day in the life of the robot master people forget is a robot master, Roll Light". Those two are more light-hearted, so should serve as a good antidote for this less-than-happy story. After that, though, it's back into the deep end: "Transmission", a horror story about the virus and the paranoia it induces.

 _Is there anyone you want to thank?_

Kudos to The Unplanner for consistent and thoughtful reviews. Special thanks to my beta reader Kaguya2.0, especially for her gentle reminders that what is obvious to me isn't always obvious to others. Thanks to The Megas, whose music informs the mood I use for my X stories; my ripping off their lyrics was more subtle this time. Thanks to Capcom for these games. They have stories just good enough to be interesting and just bad enough to be an obnoxious waste of potential, which is fanfiction's sweet spot.

And, of course, thank you all for reading. Good night.


End file.
